


Do Nothing, And No One Wins

by Kateis_Cakeis



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, It's a pre-canon canon divergence basically, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateis_Cakeis/pseuds/Kateis_Cakeis
Summary: Jacob was tired of his father, tired of the excuses of why they couldn't go to London. It certainly didn't help that Evie too often defended him.So when he met a strange man at a party, he grabbed the opportunity of something new and exciting with both hands and ran with it.It all gets awfully complicated very quickly.
Relationships: Jacob Frye/Maxwell Roth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	1. Something New

Jacob settled down on the roof, staring out at the fields, at Crawley in the near distance. He loved home, so much, but sometimes it could be so suffocating. All he wanted to do every night was escape beyond the town and explore the Blighter riddled factories towards Croydon. The Templars were beginning to truly spread themselves out... (which was good for training but bad for Britain).

Perhaps he would like the lessons with his father more if they weren’t riddled with praises for Evie, and nothing but scolding for him. Ever since they had started training, at ten years old, his father had put him down time and time again. After seven years, nothing had changed in his attitude, and there wasn’t a hint as to why he treated Jacob with such negativity.

He knew he was as skilled as Evie. Even if he preferred the fighting activities more than the stealth ones, it didn’t mean he wasn’t good at latter. And if his father ever listened to him, he would know that.

Was it too much to ask for affection off his own father? He’d abandoned them for six years, he owed them his love at the very least.

“The lesson with father starts in five minutes,” Evie’s voice called out, her boots clicking against the tiles as she approached from behind.

“Oh great, what will he berate me for tonight? My form? My lack of skill? Not having the perfect attitude?”

“If you studied–”

“You know fine well what I study.” He learnt everything he wanted to, it made him knowledgeable in the areas he cared about. “I only dislike the lessons on history and the Pieces of Eden.”

She sat beside him. “But you can’t ignore either of those subjects. The Pieces are a central part to our fight with the Templars.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care or need to know what they do. They merely have to stay out of Templar hands. Isn’t that it? Why would I want to know more?”

“So you’re aware of how dangerous they are? What they _could_ do if the Templars found one.”

“If they had one, that would mean I’d have to assassinate them so I could return it to a safe place.” He glanced down at his gauntlet. It seemed silly to wear a weapon all the time but never use it. “I know the Pieces are dangerous and unpredictable, don’t think I ignore everything.”

“But you ignore history.”

“We live in the present. What Assassins did before us is of no importance to me. How are the stories about what Altaïr Ibn-LaʼAhad did hundreds of years ago supposed to help me? We live in the age of technology, Evie. History can only tell us so much.”

Evie tilted her head, smiling. “I’m glad you know who Altaïr is.”

Jacob waved dismissively, hardly believing he’d let it slip. He’d rather not have Evie know that he did care for _some_ history. “Things are different. Things are changing.”

Evie sighed. “At least listen to father more… maybe then he’ll give you an easier time.”

“Do you…” He looked to her with a raised eyebrow. Her tone suggested… “Do you know why he hates me?”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“From what I’ve experienced, he does. Do you know?”

Evie glanced away, shrugging. “I overheard him talking to George, a few months ago.”

“And?”

“He said he knew you’d be a failure the second you were born…”

Jacob furrowed his brow. His hands shook as a wave of realisation rolled over him. Oh… “He blames me.”

Evie turned to him, but made no eye contact. “He said you killed our mother...”

“It’s– It’s not my fault. I didn’t…” He closed his eyes, pulling his legs to his chest and hugging them. “I was a newborn babe.”

“I’m sorry, that’s all I heard…”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Jacob…”

He let out a breath. “Go tell father you tried to find me but couldn’t. I can’t face him right now.”

“But, he’ll get angry at you if you avoid the lessons again.”

“He doesn’t deserve to call himself my father.” He opened his eyes slowly, clenching his jaw to keep tears at bay. “I’m going into Crawley. Have fun.”

As he went to move away, Evie caught his wrist. “Don’t do something reckless. Stay safe.”

“I will. I promise.”

She smiled sadly and let him go.

If his father didn’t want him, he would go to the people who would.

\--

“Jacob…!” Noel called out the second Jacob walked through the door. He bounced up from his seat, beer in hand, and wrapped an arm around him, grinning. “I owe you a drink from last time!”

Jacob chuckled, pushing Noel’s hand off his shoulder. He glanced to where the others were sitting. Fletch was shuffling cards, Marcus was trying to woo a woman on the next table over, and Charles was passed out already. It was only nine o’clock.

“When did you lot get here?”

“Six. Three hours, three! That’s how long we had to survive without you.”

Jacob chuckled, shaking his head. “You’d survive, you’d just be fairly bored is all.”

Noel gave him quite the whack on the back. “You sit with the others, I’ll get you a beer.”

“Thanks.”

He made it over to the table the others were sitting at, happily going about their drunken evening. Pulling out a seat, he sat down, grinning as the three of them acknowledged him with a nod. (Although Marcus was very distracted when he took note of his presence). Everything was always far too quiet when Noel was at the bar.

“Fancy a card game tonight?” Jacob asked, nodding to Fletch’s cards.

“And let you steal all my money again? No thank you.” Fletch smiled. “I don’t know how you do it. You’ll have to teach me one day.”

Jacob scratched at his temple. He had skills, from hours of practice, but his other skills, as an Assassin, helped a great deal too. “I’ll try my best, but sometimes, people are _born_ with talent.”

Fletch scoffed, playfully hitting Jacob’s arm. “You weren’t born with shit, Frye.”

“Here’s your beer, Jacob!” Noel said suddenly, setting it down. He sat next to Fletch, reaching over the table to flick Charles’s head. “Wake up, silly billy.”

Charles stirred but didn’t so much as open an eyelid.

“Leave him, Noel,” Jacob said, laughing. “He’s not waking up any time soon.”

“Damn it. I wanted us to go to Will’s, now that you’re here.”

He took a sip of his beer, shrugging. “Don’t think I want to fight tonight.”

“Oh?”

“My father.”

“Oh…”

Fletch rolled his eyes, flicking a card out of the deck. It slid across the table, stopping at Charles’s face. “Your father can’t be that bad.”

“He blames me for my mother dying in childbirth.”

“Shit…” Noel muttered. “That’s not fair.”

Fletch put the cards down. “Yeah, that’s terrible.”

Jacob took a swig of his drink. “I’d rather not think about it.”

“You bastard!” the woman Marcus was trying to woo shouted, slapping him right on the cheek. She gathered her skirts and ran straight out of the pub, her friends followed behind.

Marcus twisted back around, scooting his chair closer to the table. “So, that went well…”

Jacob laughed, leaning forward. “What did you do this time? Suggest a quick one in the alley?”

Marcus’s cheeks suddenly went a little red. “Maybe.”

“She was from one of the posher households, you arsehole. If she was caught in an alley with someone like you, lowly and poor, what would everyone think?” Fletch asked, picking his cards back up.

“That I have disgraced her good name and her father would wring my neck for it?”

“Precisely, you idiot.”

“Marcus, my good friend,” Noel slurred, seemed like the alcohol was truly getting to him, “stop focussing on women and instead have fun with us!”

“I have needs, fellas. I doubt one of you will come into the alley with me.”

Jacob nearly choked on his sip of beer. He carefully placed his tankard down. “With your ugly mug? No thanks.”

Noel raised his eyebrows. “Well if you’re offering…”

Marcus took a pork scratching from the bowl, throwing it at Noel. Luckily, it missed. “I’m not that desperate.”

“Clearly you are.”

He rolled his eyes, glancing to Charles – who was next to him. “At least he’s not awake to make a comment. He’d probably try to make a move just to make me uncomfortable.”

“It would be nice if someone took you down a few pegs,” Fletch said, shuffling his cards quickly. “Ain’t nothing wrong with helping a friend out.”

Marcus threw another pork scratching, hitting Fletch right in the forehead. “There’s everything wrong with it.”

Fletch chuckled. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Marcus. I’m only teasing ya.”

“You better.”

Jacob downed the rest of his drink, feeling strangely uncomfortable with the conversation. “Lads, can we please move on from Marcus’s Johnson?”

Noel suddenly sparked to life, leaning forward. “You know what I heard?”

“What?” they all asked.

“A rich family has moved into the Edwin estate. This fine dressed man and his wife. Seems that they have a son too.”

“What does the man do?” Fletch asked, placing his cards back down. That normally meant he wanted to pay attention.

“Ellie’s family say he used to run a theatre. Now… the man seems to be involved with some business or other.”

“But _what_ business?”

“Apparently… the black market.”

Jacob leant back in his seat, tilting his head slightly. Black market. There were only three options to what that man could be. A really prolific criminal, probably high up in the chain, given the theatre. An assassin not associated with the Assassins (it was strange to think there were people out there who assassinated others for money, no matter if they were good or bad). Or… a Templar.

“Weapons, poisons, something else?” Jacob inquired, if he could get enough information…

Marcus scoffed. “And what you would know of the black market, Jacob? You’re a country boy through and through.”

He repressed a laugh. God, his friends were so clueless. “I’ve heard things.”

“Weapons, probably,” Noel cut back in. “Apparently he has scars all over his face, and his hands too. He doesn’t wear gloves.”

Fletch pursed his lips. “Sounds strange. Let’s stay clear. I don’t want to get mixed up with some big criminal.”

“None of us would stand a chance.”

Jacob laughed now. “Except me.”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “You’re an outlier. You were born to fight.”

Well… since he was raised as an Assassin, that probably wasn’t too far from the truth. “Maybe.” He stood, gesturing to their drinks. “Another round?”

There were no disagreements with that, and Jacob was glad he didn’t need to get Charles a drink. He was still sound asleep. It wasn’t as if he had a low tolerance, he could just neck beers back like they were a disgusting medicine he didn’t want to drink. He was the stranger one of the group.

Jacob ordered them all beers, to which the bartender smiled and cracked a joke about them being his most loyal patrons. It was probably true, they were in there every other night. Jacob was there less, because he did stay for the lessons _most_ of the time. He leant against the bar while the bartender got to work. Bored, he entered his Eagle Vision, having a brief look around. All seemed normal, no red stood out at least.

As his eyes drifted, he noticed a man staring at him, towards the end of the bar. He let his Vision fade away, turning to look more clearly. The man was probably a couple years older than Jacob, with clothes that seemed slightly out of place for Crawley. Too posh, a tad too much leather incorporated into his coat. A purple one at that, with a sort of mustard waistcoat underneath.

They locked eyes for a second and Jacob felt something bloom in his chest at the attention. He quickly glanced away, pulling his cap down a tad. Luckily, to get him out of the situation, the bartender returned with the beers. He paid up and took them over to the table, gladly leaving the situation with the man behind.

Fletch took his beer, taking a swig of it. He grinned. “Anyone want to hear about when I almost got called as a witness for a murder?”

“You _what_?!” Noel half shouted. “ _When?!_ ”

“Couple months ago.”

Charles suddenly bolted up, giving them all a dazed look. “Did someone say murder?”

Jacob nearly startled but collapsed down into laughter fairly quickly. Only Charles… The others laughed along too, while Charles had such a blank look on, as if he was lost.

Marcus patted him on the back. “Welcome back, mate. Fletch is about to tell us a story.”

Once Fletch calmed himself back down, he leant forward. “So I was at this factory, trying to find my dog, who had run off. I see a shadow in the distance and then there’s just… a body. Right in the middle of the place.”

As Fletch continued, Jacob bit his lip. That may or may not have been him and Evie. Some Blighters were hanging around, and usually they weren’t this far south, so their father used it as a training exercise. Except a body had fallen down from the railings above when the momentum of killing him had caused him to topple. They thought no one was there, but clearly they had been wrong about that.

Jacob settled down, trying not to feel guilty throughout the story.

\--

“A ball?” Evie asked, folding her arms. “You’re sending us to a _ball_?”

“More like a party,” their father said. “It’s purely to gain information. The majority of the town will be there.”

Jacob glanced at the papers spread out on the dining table. Research. “By majority, do you mean all the rich people?”

“Yes.”

“Why do we have to go?”

Their father sighed. “I’ve heard news that a possible Blighter leader, or Templar, is living in Crawley. The Brownsworth party is a good place to start.”

Evie picked up a piece of paper, a rough plan for the house. “Would a Templar talk about the Order at a party, in a place no other Templars are?”

“We don’t know if they are the only one. It could help focus investigations if you see or hear anything strange.”

Jacob turned to his father. “A friend of mine told me a man with scars on his face has moved into the Edwin estate. Rumour has it, he’s into the ‘black market business’. It might be hearsay, but could that be the man we’re looking for?”

His father tilted his head. “Perhaps. Keep an eye out for him.” He gave a terse smile. “Good work, Jacob.”

“Thank you.” The praise from his father was almost euphoric. He had finally managed to impress him, if only in a small way.

“Go prepare. The party is later tonight.”

Jacob smirked at Evie, knowing she would hate it. Dresses were her sworn enemy, after the Templars of course. Jacob didn’t try too hard with his formal wear, after all, he was seen as the unpredictable boy that lived in that strange house on the outskirts. The people of Crawley believed the Fryes to be a family of business, and in a way, they weren’t entirely wrong.

The journey to the Brownsworth house wasn’t too terrible, considering Ellie had spotted them walking and invited them into her carriage. She was one of the few rich children who snuck out to the pub, unbothered by the poorer people of Crawley. Jacob and Evie were lucky, half the town saw them as being on the cusp of being rich, and the other half didn’t believe they had money at all (considering the way Jacob usually dressed, with his tattered and well used garbs).

It allowed them to hide in plain sight.

Ellie grinned at them both as the carriage came to a stop. “My mother and father arrived during the afternoon, which means they will be awfully drunk.” She let out a menacing giggle. “I can do what I bloody like this evening, which means, they can’t stop me from sticking with you two.”

Jacob and Evie exchanged a brief glance. They had a mission to do, but having Ellie around would allow them to blend in and listen. With smiles and nods, Ellie lit up, hopping out of the carriage. In her peach dress, she had amazing movement. Evie, on the other hand, moved as her legs had been tied. Jacob felt sorry for her, but, it couldn’t be helped, she couldn’t dress in trousers for a party. No one could _possibly_ allow that.

The Brownsworth house was quite the spectacle. Possibly one of the biggest houses in the area, a true Stately home. It’s entrance was as open as ballroom. The stairs grand and dark, with a carpet going up them. There wasn’t a spot of dust, or an out of place object. Everything was perfect, exactly where it was meant to be. Statues lay at the sides of the open space, looming judgementally.

Some guests were milling around this particular area, chatting away, drinks in hand. But the true party was located where the booming music was coming from. A dramatic waltz if Jacob was hearing it right. The ballroom was to the left, as if the front of the house was designed for one thing alone… parties and showing off.

Which… considering the rich, it probably was.

Jacob leant in close to Evie as Ellie ran off ahead of them. “What’s your plan?”

“Keep an eye out for that man you mentioned and listen for subtle clues. You?”

“The same, but if I can sneak away, I’ll see if any secret conversations are taking place.”

“Good idea.”

They stepped away from each other as Ellie spun on her heel, a glass in her hand. “Grab a flute of champagne and let’s go watch the dancing!”

Both Jacob and Evie did so, but neither took a sip just yet. While it would take a lot to get Jacob drunk, for this particular mission, he wanted to keep his senses sharp. If he was successful and didn’t mess any of it up, perhaps he could finally prove to his father that he was a good Assassin.

The dancing was exactly what you would expect. Very posh and respectable. Men approached women for a dance, and mostly, the women accepted. Some were happy about it, others weren’t. For why that was, Jacob supposed it was to do with how old the man was, what he looked like, and how much money his family had. Of course, there were most likely other reasons but for what they were, Jacob couldn’t care to fathom them.

In a ballroom such as this, it was far too easy to blend in.

Jacob closed his eyes for a second, listening. The music was loud, but he could easily drown that out to focus on conversations instead. It was hard, and he was still learning the skill, but he managed to catch words, sentences, phrases, tones. Anything, one slip up, could help.

“Lucy? Well, she’s deep in her studies, as usual.”

Not useful.

“You won’t _believe_ what champagne does to me. It twists my stomach.”

Too much information.

“Sir, that is quite preposterous! London is the greatest place on this very planet! At its grandest moment! What would they do without us?”

Interesting…

“People like you, like me, are destroying the good people of this country.”

“They deserve to starve if they cannot work.”

Ah… just a normal capitalist.

“Jacob!” Ellie exclaimed, elbowing him in the ribs. “Have you seen those two?”

He opened his eyes to witness the bravest thing of all. A man lifting a woman high above his head for more than a second. “Huh…”

“You could lift me like that!”

Evie snorted, glancing to Jacob with mirth in her eyes. “As fun as that would be, I don’t think my brother is coordinated enough to dance, Ellie.”

Jacob shrugged. “Maybe I don’t want to dance at all.”

“Aw,” Ellie uttered, frowning. “That’s a shame.”

Evie smiled, turning to touch Ellie’s elbow. “Why don’t you talk to that handsome suitor over there?” She nodded to a man who was staring at Ellie. He had a perfectly cut jaw, eyes that seemed to shine from across the room.

Ellie lit up. “Do you think he would like to?”

“Absolutely.”

She went running over, and the both of them watched as the man smiled and gestured to the dance floor as she approached. With vim and vigour, she beamed, and the man took her hand into his own. It was gentle, romantic.

“You sent away our cover,” Jacob said, cupping his hands behind his back.

“I noticed you were listening. Ellie would have been a distraction.”

“I didn’t hear much anyway, just people talking about their lives.”

Evie thinned her lips. “Perhaps it would be best if we split up. You could sneak around the house while I stay here and endure this awful music.”

Jacob furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It pretends to be dramatic but has no flair. It’s too fast, and doesn’t nearly use the cello enough.”

He barked a laugh. “You love that instrument too much.”

She smiled. “One day, I will play it better than you play the violin.”

“I doubt that very much, dear sister. My skills are impeccable.”

“In your dreams perhaps.”

He gasped, scandalised, while Evie merely rolled her eyes. With that, the two parted ways. Evie stayed in the vast crowds and Jacob ventured out into the entranceway. Slipping into his Eagle Vision could barely tell him much. There wasn’t so much a target here, but a target to be found. Focussing on people’s conversations was all he could do.

The house was vast and unforgiving. Every other door was locked, clearly the Brownsworths didn’t want people sneaking around their home, much less allowing thieves free pickings. The further he went along the upstairs corridors, the fewer sounds he heard. As if nothing was going on at all.

He checked every room he could. Leaning close to every door, listening in. But time and time again he heard nothing. Not on the first floor, and not on the second. He had no doubt, after scouring most of the house, that if the Templar was here at all, they were likely enjoying the party on the ground floor.

No one at all seemed to be present on the upper floors, in any of the rooms. Which was a shame, because Jacob loved secret conversations, and loved eavesdropping. The things people let slip when they thought they were alone…

He returned to the first floor, about to head down the main, and very grand, stairs, when he noticed the balcony doors were slightly ajar. If anything, after all that walking and searching, he needed a bit of fresh air. It had been rather disappointing to find out no Templars had snuck away to talk business with someone.

Sighing, he snuck past the balcony doors and wandered out. The sky was clear tonight, letting the stars shine in all their glory. He took a few steps forward before he saw a man, leaning over the balcony’s wall, staring out at the gardens, holding a glass in his hands. He threw his head over his shoulder, smiling faintly as he saw Jacob.

It was… the same man from the pub. His formal wear was far less strange than what he wore the other day. Clearly, his family had money. His coat was almost silky, and it was the darkest red. His buttons were golden, and every part of his outfit fitted him well.

“Have you been forced to come as well? I haven’t seen many escape the ballroom,” the man asked, his voice gruff.

Jacob shrugged. He’d spent the best part of two hours scouring the house. A big place like this had to be searched thoroughly, but somehow, he felt the opportunity had already ran by him. He could afford a few moments away from the mayhem. “You could say that. Parties like this are full of pretentious arseholes.”

The man laughed, shaking his head. “You can say that again. My father wants me to find a young women to marry before I ‘get too old’.”

“And you’ve escaped because too many were pining after you?” He came to a stop next to the man, tilting his head. He was good looking. His hair was pushed back, his eyes sparkled – and what a wonderful green they were. And if his family had the money, any woman in this house would be falling over themselves to get a dance.

“No, I escaped because I’d rather not get married.” He grinned, sipping his wine. “I have a life to live first.”

“Hm. I suppose that’s a good way to look at it.”

The man raised an eyebrow but said nothing more on the subject. “Look at us being so informal. Talking without introducing ourselves.” He laughed to himself. “I’m Maxwell Roth.”

Jacob grinned. “I’m Jacob Frye. Nice to meet you.”

Roth leaned towards him. “It’s certainly good to have someone to talk to. The night was getting boring.”

“Be glad I’m here then. People say I’m the life of the party.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Doubt all you want, it won’t change the truth.” Jacob watched carefully as Roth opened and closed his mouth, eventually deciding to take a sip of his wine.

“If you’re the life of the party, then how come they can continue without you?”

“Ah, you see, me being here is all they need.”

“I see…”

Jacob settled against the wall, staring out at the dark gardens. Birds hopped around, squawking at each other. “All jokes aside, I’d rather be out having fun than here.”

Roth hummed, as if contemplating. “We could go, no one would stop us.”

“My father would hate me more than he already does if I abandoned this party.”

“Personally, fathers are not to be listened to. Mine only brings me frustration.”

Jacob huffed a laugh. “Mine too.” He breathed in the crisp December air. There was nothing stopping him… except everything that was. “But I can’t leave.”

Roth shrugged, draining his glass. “If you don’t want to leave then… we could go to the ballroom and watch men make fools of themselves.”

Jacob grinned, pushing away from the wall. “I’ll race you there.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

They both sprinted for the door. Jacob made it out first, he was terribly good at running. People on the landing gave them strange looks as they practically launched themselves down the stairs. Roth tripped a step behind him, and Jacob almost feared he was going to fall on top of him, but through some kind of magic, he kept his footing. They both went skidding towards the ballroom, coming to a skidding halt as they made it past the doors.

After all, they were polite gentlemen. They didn’t need to make a spectacle of themselves in the main part of the party. (And doing so wouldn’t help Jacob’s cover, he needed to hide, not alert others to his presence). He stepped beyond the threshold, grinning at Roth.

“I won.”

Roth shrugged. “I’ll give you that, Frye.” He approached him with a hop in his step. “Now, let’s watch.”

Jacob grabbed two flutes of champagne as one of the servants passed by them and followed Roth to a secluded corner. He handed one to him, which he gladly accepted. Scanning the crowd, Jacob noticed that Evie was further up the room, near the band. She’d probably found the Templar already. Then again, this hardly seemed like the party to reveal any cunning plans to anyone.

Roth tapped his arm, pointing to a man approaching a woman who looked far above his station. He smiled, in a way that seemed predatory. She turned away from him, saying something, which seemed to make the man’s nose scrunch up. He moved away from her in an instant, and in his retreat, the woman grinned, slyly.

“I don’t know what she said,” Jacob began, more than impressed, “but I believe he lost.”

“She said he smelt like her murdered dog, and that no one from polite society would ever interact with him.”

He looked at Roth, narrowing his eyes. “You can read lips?” It could have been any manner of things. Either he was skilled in the art of reading lips, he had Eagle Vision and listened in, or he was lying for effect.

Roth took a sip of his champagne. “My father taught me…”

“For what reason? It’s no normal skill.”

“Reasons.”

Jacob smirked, leaning back against the wall behind them. “That’s rather mysterious…”

“I don’t know you, Frye. This isn’t an integration.”

“No… But I would like to get to know you.” He stared at Roth. His clothes… the way he talked… there was something about him. “You’re more captivating than this party.”

Roth downed his champagne, glancing away. As if he couldn’t look at him. “You’re a decent looking man,” he began, looking Jacob’s way but avoiding making eye contact, “why are you here with me?”

Jacob scoffed, amused. “And what would I do instead? Mingle with women high above my station? I have better things to do with my time. Like spend it with someone genuinely interesting.”

For a brief moment, Jacob thought he saw Roth blush. “And I’m interesting, am I?”

“There are three women looking at you right now. Two are growing frustrated that you won’t look their way and one is going to come over in about five seconds. Meanwhile, you only want to see men try and fail.” He smiled, sparing a quick glance to the third woman. She was on her way. “I appreciate people who go against what they’re told, for the benefit of their own sanity.”

The third woman, looking awfully sweet, as if butter wouldn’t melt, stopped by the two of them. She batted her eyelids at Roth, and Jacob could see him grimace at his empty glass. The woman had a fan in her left hand, fully open. She wanted Roth to go and talk with her… Jacob wondered how far she would get.

“Hello there,” she said, tilting her head to the side, smiling. Her hair falling over her shoulder.

Roth placed his glass down on the windowsill next to them, folding his arms. Defensive… Now, that was interesting. “I’m sorry, Miss. I’m not up for dancing, if that’s what you’d like.”

Instantly, the woman’s shoulders slumped. “I have seen you turn away more woman tonight than any man would dare to.” She closed her fan, angrily. “You better be careful, turn down any more and someone might think something awful.” She turned to Jacob, her sweet smile returning. “Care to dance?”

Jacob barked a laugh, throwing his head back. He levelled the woman with a glare. “You were rather rude to my friend here. I’m not interested in a woman who can’t lose well.”

“This isn’t a game,” she seethed.

He restrained from laughing once again. “I’m sorry? Isn’t that exactly what this is? It’s a battle of wits and first impressions, of looks and skill. It’s absolutely a game.”

The woman turned her back on them, half storming off. She stopped by a group of women, who sneered at them.

A few seconds passed before Roth collapsed into laughter. Jacob quickly joined him, hardly believing the situation. A few heads turned their way, and they were surely making some sort of scandal of themselves, but Jacob couldn’t care less. The woman had gotten so offended that Roth didn’t want to dance, even more so when Jacob exposed the ritual for what it was.

Parties for rich people were nothing but a farce.

Roth wiped his eyes as he stood tall once more. “Oh, my father is going to kill me.”

Jacob heaved in a breath to calm himself, searching for Evie in the crowd. She was staring at him… judgmentally. “Oh god, mine too.”

“I may as well accept my fate, nevertheless. My father will marry me off soon enough, with or without my consent.”

“Your father doesn’t control you. No one can force you to do a thing.” Jacob moved in front of Roth, watching his expressions intently. “Rebel, always rebel. We’re free enough to make our own choices, aren’t we?”

“You don’t know my father.” His voice sounded awfully dark and distant.

“No, but I can see you’re not the type of person to take things lying down.”

Roth stared oddly at the crowd. “I’m not…”

“Then don’t. If he tries to force you into marriage, you don’t have to say a single vow.”

“Jacob,” Evie’s voice bellowed as she walked (rather awkwardly in that dress) towards them. “It’s time.”

He sighed, turning away from Roth. Evie had impeccable timing. “Did you happen to find him in the crowd?”

“Unfortunately, no.” She lifted her chin. “But then, it was never guaranteed he was going to show up.”

Jacob twisted his mouth, shaking his head. To indicate that he had no luck either. He gestured towards Roth. “This is Maxwell Roth.” He placed a hand at Evie’s shoulder. “This is my sister, Evie Frye.”

Evie tilted her head. “Has my brother been annoying you by any chance?”

Roth chuckled. “Quite the opposite.” He looked towards Jacob. “I suppose you’re going now.”

He nodded, dropping his hand from Evie’s shoulder. “Yes. Our father has a strict curfew.”

That was very much a lie, but if it was time to go, they had to. Evie had clearly found nothing, and neither had Jacob, there was no reason to stay. Except… well, Roth had certainly captured him. If he could spend the entire night with him, he would, readily. But they had to report back, with whatever they had or had not found out.

“Come to the pub,” he said, with a weird feeling of hope in his voice, “I’m there most nights.”

Roth smiled. “I will.”

“Good.”

Evie ever so slightly glared at Jacob. “We really do have to go.”

Jacob nodded, stepping away with Evie. He grinned at Roth before fully looking away, making his way out of the house. It had certainly been an evening and a half. He hadn’t expected to meet someone like Roth, but then, what had they expected? To find a Templar outing themselves at the first opportunity? It didn’t seem likely.

“Who is Roth then?”

“I don’t know, someone rather interesting. He’s trying to ignore what his father wants for him.”

She hummed. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Jacob barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Difference is, Roth seems fairly normal. Nothing like what I have to cope with.”

Evie sighed, beginning to walk faster. “Come on, the sooner we get home, the sooner father will accept that we found nothing.”

He thinned his lips, deciding to stay silent at that. Their father would certainly let Evie off the hook, but him? He would make sure Jacob knew every single fault, every single mistake he would have made. But, in reality, he did all he could.

Would his father ever except that? Probably not.

\--

Jacob flipped his notebook shut, leaning back in his seat. He hated this classroom. Hated the books, the subject, hated it all. Years and years of the same things, the same lectures, the same quotes. What had their father been reduced to? Sure, they practised, but hearing about the same stories for the hundredth time to check if they had listened the last time was getting tiresome.

“Jacob, are you listening?” his father said, tone stern. He dropped the piece of chalk on his desk and approached where he was sitting.

The room wasn’t the biggest thing in the world. It fitted two tables, one for him and one for Evie, as well as a desk and chalkboard. But nothing more. The windows were usually covered by the thick curtains, so he couldn’t stare outside and get easily distracted. 

“Yes.”

“What did I say?”

Jacob leant back in his seat, folding his arms. “Amunet was the legendary Assassin who killed Cleopatra with an asp. It is said the Assassins only exist because of her.” He tilted his head. “Is that alright, Father?”

His father turned away, moving back towards his desk. “Why do you listen sometimes but not others, Jacob?”

“Because we’re ignoring the bigger picture. Now is not the time for lessons on history and the Pieces of Eden. Evie and I are old enough to go into London with you and take it back from the Templars!” He stood, pressing his hands into the table. “The longer we wait, the more people will suffer because you, George, and the Council can’t see what is going to happen!”

Ethan huffed, clenching his jaw. He looked to Jacob as if he’d spat in his face. “And what will happen, since you’re so wise?”

“They’re spreading, like an illness. One is already in Crawley. We’re not entirely _close_ to London. Next, they will make their way further south, and if they reach the North… or Scotland… what then? They will be too powerful, there will be too many. If we’re not careful, they will rule the _world_.”

“Then, what do you suggest?”

Jacob stood tall. “We need to stop being cowards, because that is exactly what we are, what _you_ are.”

Ethan’s eyes turned cold. “Get out.”

“I’m only saying the truth, Father. We’re working in shadows too far from the true enemy. The Assassins will–”

“I said get out!”

Jacob collected up his notebook, glaring at his father. “You teach us every day to be unique, to be ourselves, to lean on our strengths, yet you berate me for being _me_. You teach us about past Assassins, of Pieces of Eden, but you neglect to see that we’re doing _nothing_ out here. We’re betraying our very Creed by being patient.”

He walked up to his father, brushing past him. He was being too brave, saying things he could never take back. But if his father could finally _listen_ , maybe it would be worth it.

“You have taught us that the Templars cause untold suffering, yet we sit in our nice country house, _waiting_.” He reached for the door, swinging it open. Pausing, he scoffed, shaking his head. “Amunet would be disappointed that a branch of the Brotherhood has become so scared.”

Jacob left the room behind, practically slamming the door behind him. Direct action, that was his one true method, and his father hated it. Apparently they needed to be patient, to wait for the Council’s approval for each and every big decision. Hiding in the countryside, as if they were lambs for the slaughter, was only aiding the Templars. If they truly stood by and did nothing, then they were just the same as the very evil they vowed to stop.

And no British Assassin would dare to try, in case they went against the Council and were denounced or something as equally as cowardly as that.

What was the point of assassinating people out in the country, when the true evil was happening inside London?

But then, his father would never approve of his methods. He never had and he never would.

So, he went to his room. It was approaching nine, if he wanted, he could go to the pub later on, or the fight club which was open all night. But for now, he placed his notebook on his desk and opened it up. Stepping up to his bookcase, he picked out one of the many books he made his father and Evie believe he never touched.

Moving back to his desk, he sat down, picked up his pen, and flicked to the page in the book that talked about Elizabeth I’s ascension to the throne. He wrote down notes on the subject, finding it fascinating that the Assassins would aid her. She acquired an Apple of Eden no less. He wondered if they came to regret their choice as Queen Elizabeth tried to break into the slave trade and develop a British Empire. Something that caused misery around the world nowadays.

Why did ridding the world of Templars come with cost? Replacing them with people almost as bad did not help matters when it came to liberty and freedom. People deserved to make the right or wrong choices but… Assassins couldn’t afford to accidentally assist in the future suffering of others.

But then… how could anyone predict what someone would do? Especially if that person was trusted.

After an hour of researching the history _he_ was interested in, he closed his notebook and returned the book to the shelf. He didn’t know why he kept it a secret, that he knew things. It was easy to annoy Evie by pretending to be ignorant. Or to rebel against his father by deliberately answering questions he knew with a ridiculous answer.

He left his room to head out, it being ten now, when Evie stopped him at the landing. She had either been waiting for him, or had predicted him sneaking out. Which… why did it matter to her? She had stayed silent during his argument with their father.

“You’re making father grow impatient with you,” she said.

“Father would rather have our mother back then have me.” He tried to move around Evie, but she stepped in front of him, blocking the stairs. “I have somewhere to be.”

“What? The pub? With your _friends_? You have skill and talent, Jacob, why waste your potential?”

“Why do you think?”

She shook her head. “Father loves you, he wouldn’t wish you gone.”

“He has never proved to me that he loves me. He left us for six years, Evie…” He felt tears well in his eyes. “I can’t forgive that.” He hopped up on to the banister, sliding halfway down before jumping off and running for the door.

Evie didn’t follow.

At least at the pub, he had people who trusted him, who liked him. That was better than staying at home, with people who wanted to change him.


	2. Inner Struggles

“You’re looking rather rough there,” the bartender said as Jacob leant on the bar. The pub wasn’t too busy tonight, and there was no sign of Noel, Fletch, Marcus and Charles.

“It’s been a long day.”

“Your usual?”

He smiled slightly. “Yes, thank you.”

As he waited he put his head in his hands, sighing, wishing he could scream. His father had no idea how good he was, instead he focused on everything Jacob did wrong. It wasn’t fair. Just because Evie was more like him… Just because… Just…

Well, he didn’t know why his father had such a disdain to his methods, to his preferences. What was so wrong with doing the very thing the Assassins existed for? Research could only do so much.

“Hey, mate, lighten up,” the bartender said, placing down his drink.

Jacob raised his head, staring down at the very full beer before him. “Bet you see this all the time.”

“People have bad days.”

“Yeah…” And yet, Jacob tended to have bad weeks. He paid the bartender and left the bar behind, finding a table to sit at. Sometimes… he wished he could hop on a train to London and start working, properly. He didn’t want to be remembered for sitting on his arse. Future Assassins would use him as a lesson of what not to do, surely.

Although… perhaps his father was right, in a way. They had too few forces, and could a small number of Assassins really dismantle a Templar stronghold?

He took a sip of his beer, mulling on the subject. There was no reason why they couldn’t. They would never see it coming until the first Templars started to mysteriously drop like flies.

However, if he went to London, his father would tell the Council and they would expel him from the Brotherhood for going against direct orders. Yet, the Assassins who led the British Council hadn’t been involved in a mission for years. What did they truly know? Compared to the Assassins who were doing things from the outside, who could see what would happen to London, to the world…

He just wanted a better life for the people who would suffer the most.

“You look like someone just stole your favourite dog.”

Jacob huffed a laugh, looking up to see Roth standing there, with a glass of wine in hand. He was back to wearing a coat with that strange silky fabric and leather combination. Jacob couldn’t work out why he would wear something like that. His waistcoat was a deep burgundy colour, and his cravat was loosely tied, as if he cared for fashion but not entirely.

For the first time in his life, Jacob almost felt bad or inferior for wearing his tattered coat and trousers, along with his flat cap.

“Nothing so horrible. My father disagrees with me on a particular subject _I_ find too important to keep ignoring.” Jacob gestured to the seat opposite him. “You’re welcome to sit.”

Roth sat, leaning back. “What was the subject?”

He shrugged, trying to go for nonchalance. He could hardly say ‘oh I disagree with my father over when we should assassinate people that cause the suffering of others, and if they grow too powerful, say goodbye to your freedom’. So, he went to his most common cover story. “He thinks, if I studied, I could become a doctor. I don’t want to. I’d much rather be a lawyer.”

A complete and utter lie, but it was a damn good one most people believed.

“I never would have taken you to be a defender of the law.”

Ha. He was anything but in most respects. “I can surprise people.”

Roth sipped at his wine, smiling faintly. “Indeed.”

Jacob titled his head, wondering. “Has _your_ father tried to force you into a job?”

Roth placed his glass down, crossing one leg over the other. “My father wants me to go into the family business. I’m not as interested.”

“Oh, what does he do?”

“He… runs a tea business. It’s profitable, makes us rich but…” Swiftly, his expression transformed into one of conflict. He fiddled with his hands for a moment. “Sometimes, I wish I could run away. Join a circus and have fun. But my father has set out my life, whether I like it or not, and if I run, he would find me.”

Jacob hummed, feeling sympathy for the poor guy. “I suppose he has the money to do that.”

“He most certainly does.”

“You could always try, if you truly wanted, if that was your dream.”

“I don’t know anymore… Crawley is starting to feel like a home now.”

Jacob took a large swig of his beer, pondering on that statement for a second. “It didn’t before?”

“My father could make paradise feel like hell.”

There were multiple interpretations to that, but the one Jacob jumped to, was that Roth’s father possibly abused him, and had kept him from leaving the house. Which would explain why he’d only seen him recently. “You know what we both need?”

“What?”

“To watch and bet on a good ol’ fashioned fight.”

Roth raised his eyebrows. “Fighting? There’s a fight club?”

Jacob downed his beer, grinning. “There is indeed.” He stood, excitement suddenly bubbling beneath his skin. “Are you coming?”

“You have me intrigued.” Roth drained his wine and followed Jacob out of the pub.

It wasn’t far, Jacob and his friends had chosen their regular well, keeping in mind the location of the fight club. Many illegal things tended to happen there, but Noel, Fletch, Marcus and Charles were fairly oblivious to them. Many _black market_ type deals went down at the place too, if only they paid attention to what was really happening. Country boys had to get their supplies from somewhere.

It was a sort of abandoned carriage storage unit, that had been turned into a half gambling den and half fight club. With a little bit of trading on the side. Jacob may have been a little fed up of Crawley, but this was the place that really made things _interesting_.

As they made their way in, a few people nodded and smiled at Jacob. Those were the usually the ones who won a whole lot of money because of him. The place wasn’t the most sophisticated, but it certainly drew in some richer patrons. The ring was shabby, and the furniture wasn’t the best, but the hours of entertainment one could get here outweighed that.

“Welcome to Will’s, the best of all worlds in one handy place,” Jacob said, grinning. “If Will lets me, I might get into the ring.”

Roth gave a faint smile. “You fight? I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

“I do. I’m brilliant at it.”

“I’d bet on you.”

Jacob grinned, grasping Roth at the wrist. He was, perhaps, a _little_ overexcited. “You’d be guaranteed to win.”

He pulled them further into the establishment, where it got slightly smoky. Gambling, beer and cigarettes tended to go together. Will was by a board, rally people to it. Some checked over the odds, putting some money, while others kept to their drinks. It was rare, but a few tended to come here for the fighting alone, not the money they could win or lose.

Jacob let go of Roth’s wrist as he stopped by Will. He gave him the biggest lopsided grin he could muster. “Hey, Will, can I hop in?” He nodded to the two burly men, who had barely enough energy to go for another hit.

Will thinned his lips, as if he couldn’t come to a swift decision. “Only if you promise not to break all their arms again.”

He raised up his hands. “I won’t, as long as you promise not to send in any Blighters.”

Roth shifted beside, inhaling a quick breath. But Jacob was too distracted to pay that strange reaction much thought.

“Alright then,” Will said. “Go get changed.” He climbed up onto the ring, clapping his hands together to gain the audience’s attention. “Everyone! The infamous Jacob Frye will be getting into the ring tonight! Place your bets now!”

People instantly dropped what they were doing to do just that.

Jacob playfully hit Roth’s arm. “Have fun betting.” Before he could reply, Jacob went running off to the small rooms in the back, that used to be offices when the building had been used for legal practices. He took off his waistcoat and undershirt swiftly. The best way to fight in a ring such as this was to do it shirtless. No movement was restricted that way.

When he climbed into the ring, he was greeted with loud cheers and whistles. It was a good night for everyone when he fought. Will usually sent in his strongest fighter first, then groups of others, usually four at a time, but today, he saw more than a few men step close to the ring.

Jacob did not like the way Will was smiling.

What trick did he have up his sleeve?

Before he had much time to react, ten fighters jumped in, surrounding him at all sides.

“Only one round tonight, my friends!” Will shouted over the yells and cheers. “One man against ten! Can our greatest champion defeat them? The odds may, for the first time, be against him!”

Jacob rolled his shoulders, grinning. This was going to be like that time in the old factory to the north, he could feel it in his bones. So, he waited for the first man to make a move, and when he did, Jacob easily dodged his fist, moving behind him, punching him in the back, jumping up to knee him in the same place, and as they landed on the ground, Jacob took his head and smashed it against the ground.

It left him groaning, but at least he didn’t have a broken bone. He’d just get a rather nasty headache.

As another came at him, he dodged and punched, and dodged another attack from someone else, having to jump away from two attacks at one particular point. He pulled on ears and stuck his thumbs into eyes. He jabbed, he uppercut, and he stomped on some backs. One by one, they fell into a groaning mess on the floor. And, in all likelihood, none had a single broken bone.

If they were going to fight, they had to be prepared to be in for a world of pain.

He was kneeing someone in the face when he noticed one of the burly men get back up, fishing something from his pocket. Brass knuckles. He slid them on, sneering, as if he had some sort of advantage.

Oh, well, no matter. If he wanted to cheat, he could go down like the loser he was.

The burly man came running at him, while his other opponent swayed slightly from being kneed in the face. Only those two were left. He rolled one shoulder, preparing for anything that could happen next. He dodged Burly’s first swing, and was about to go in for a hit, when Mr Sway went for him.

Jacob rolled his eyes, grabbing the man’s arm and smashing their heads together, so expertly done that he caused no injury to himself. He was about to knee him _again_ , when he saw Burly in the corner of his eye. It all went wrong in an instant.

Burly gave him quite a nasty knock at his temple, causing him to stumble. With what little time he had, he pressed his fingers to the side of his head, finding blood. Oh, it was _on_. He wasn’t letting a guy that could barely stand and one Burly man with brass knuckles win.

The two came at him at once, to which Jacob dodged both of their attacks, giving each a neat, tidy and powerful punch. He grabbed Burly’s ears, sticking his thumbs in his eyes as he pulled down on them. Quickly moving back to Mr Sway to punch him in the head a few times, resulting in him falling to the ground in a heap.

Burly came at him one last time, but failed to get a hit on him, leaving him open for Jacob to kick his ankle out from under him and give him one last powerful punch.

Everyone lay, curled up, moaning in pain, while Jacob stood above them, victorious.

Will scoffed, climbing into the ring. He pointed at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re a bastard to beat, you know that?”

Jacob wiped the sweat from his brow. “One of your people cheated.”

“And he’ll get punished for that, but for now…” Will grabbed his wrist, raising it up high. “Once again, my friends, Jacob Frye has won! We have a truly unbeatable champion!”

Jacob beamed, overjoyed that he’d won yet another fight. He searched for Roth in the crowd, finding him up front, smiling in such a joyful way. Something sparked in his chest, a kind of warmth. He was glad Roth was there, with him, that he had watched him fight. And to see he had enjoyed, well, that made it better all the more.

Will let him go, and Jacob practically sprinted to the edge of the ring to get to Roth. There was something thrilling about having a new friend. “How did I do?”

Roth’s expression spoke of surprise, but his lips curled in such a particular way, it suggested he was impressed. “I think you were marvellous. The odds were surely cursing your name, but you defeated them all like this was your job.”

In a way, it was his job. At least, to know how to fight when outnumbered. But Roth could never know what he did, so he kept quiet in that respect. “Fighting is what I do to pass the time. It pays _well_ to rise above even the worst of odds.”

“I would imagine so.” He smiled slightly, till his expression soured as he looked towards where Burly had punched him. “That’s a deep cut…”

“It’ll be fine.” Jacob waved dismissively, he’d had _much_ worse.

Roth reached out towards his face, nevertheless. His hand twitching once he got close. “We need to get you cleaned up. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks, it hardly hurts.”

“He hit you with brass knuckles.” Roth turned to Will, who was approaching them with a decently sized pouch. “Is there medical equipment?”

Will nodded, pointing towards a door. “Yeah, in the back. You’re free to use what you need to.” He handed the pouch to Jacob. “Your winnings.”

“Thank you.” Jacob shoved them into his pocket, glad he had more money to waste down at the pub.

“Come on,” Roth said, placing a guiding hand briefly at his back, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

It was almost like being coddled by an overprotective hen, but it was just Roth, someone he barely knew. Someone he wanted to know _desperately_. They made their way to the offices, where the medical equipment was conveniently spread across a few tables, some of it had been used. Jacob clearly wasn’t the only one who had been injured on that particular day.

Roth pointed to one of the tables. “Hop up on that.” He moved towards where the bandages had been haphazardly used while Jacob sat on the table, swinging his legs.

He watched as Roth collected up a range of items, a clean cloth, clean bandages. He briefly left and returned with a tankard, smiling as he did so.

“What’s that?” Jacob asked, pointing to it.

“Whiskey, it’s the best way to clean a wound.”

“Really?” The Assassins had been using pure ethanol for a good number years. So, an alcoholic drink was – most likely – a good alternative.

“Absolutely.”

Roth dipped the clean cloth into the whiskey, stepping into his space. He assessed the wound, narrowing his eyes at it. Jacob spread his legs, to allow more room, but Roth stayed where he was, unmoving in his positioning. There was a slight pause, a moment of evaluation, until…

Jacob’s breath hitched as a warmth spread within his chest, simply because Roth had cupped his jaw. He applied the cloth to the wound, cleaning it gently, holding Jacob’s head as if it was precious. There was something so tender in this moment…

He didn’t know why but, he felt a need to get closer. To… He bit his bottom lip, ridding himself of those thoughts. Instead, he concentrated on the pain, anything but the hands on his skin. He was drawn to Roth, he couldn’t help it. But there were thoughts that wished to be known, and Jacob most certainly didn’t want to acknowledge them.

As Roth continued to clean, he reached a point which stung rather badly. Jacob winced in pain, glancing towards him, and for a _moment_ , they locked eyes. His chest sparked, warming at the eye contact. Roth’s expression, with his slightly furrowed brow and parted mouth… The air was tense, so much so that no knife could cut through it.

Jacob shifted forwards, _needing_ to get closer. He wanted to… Wanted… Roth coughed, moving backwards, rubbing his forehead. It broke whatever that moment was, bringing them back to the task at hand. Roth bandaged it up, probably making Jacob look ridiculous but he did suppose blood had been dripping from it.

“You’re done.” Roth’s voice was quiet and thin… “That wound was worse than you thought.”

Yes… Jacob had noticed the blood dripping onto the table. “Hm, it doesn’t hurt.”

“ _Yet_. But it will.”

“Thank you, _Doctor Roth_ , for your assistance.”

Roth rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that. I’m no doctor.” He twisted his lips, looking at Jacob from under his eyelashes, in a nervous way. “Call me Maxwell.”

Jacob lit up, hopping off the table. “Mind if I call you Max?”

A small blush crept up on his cheeks. “Not at all.”

“Then I want you to call me Jacob, it’s only fair.” He grinned at Max, and he smiled back. There was some amount of nervousness in the air, but this step in their friendship could only mean good things.

“With that said, and you fixed up, want to go to the pub?”

Jacob barked a laugh. “Trying to make me spend my winnings?”

Max leant close, smirking. “Maybe…”

“Then let’s go. There’s no better way to spend my money, or spend my time.” He clapped Max on the back, walking past him to leave the office behind.

God… There was _something_ about Max that made Jacob feel… confident. Amongst other things. Spending time with him was surely the only way to figure it all out.

\--

_Jacob chuckled so softly, it felt as if nothing could go wrong ever again. He was happy. Warm. Joyful. The sun was shining on him, and he was next to the person who mattered most, who had come into his life so suddenly, that everything had changed._

_Max._

_He was in his arms, lying in the aces of land, of grass, that lay beyond his house. Max was smiling so bright, as if Jacob was his entire world. He grinned back, lopsidedly. Everything was so at peace, so perfect._

_He moved in the hold, hovering over Max. There was a small pause before they both closed the gap, pressing their lips together._

_The kiss was sweet, oh so gentle. Like a whisper, like they were scared. But there was nothing to be scared about..._

_Suddenly they were laughing, enjoying the sun once again. Max was bright and bubbly, and Jacob wanted nothing more than this moment. To be wrapped up next to him, to be joyful and free._

Jacob opened his eyes in a snap. What... the hell?

Sitting up, he wiped his forehead, trying to process what he had seen. What did that dream mean? Men didn’t… didn’t kiss each other. Only a man and a woman did that.. didn’t they? He scrunched his face up, wishing he could scream without bringing the house down.

Max made him so confused. He made him happy in a way his friends didn’t. He wanted to spend every second of the day with him… Did that make him– He glanced away, shutting his eyes tight. What… was happening? These feelings weren’t right.

As he slowly opened his eyes, he spotted his violin in the corner.

He jumped out of bed, taking the instrument into his hands, placing it under his chin, and closed his eyes once more. The violin allowed him to obtain a sort of peace when playing it, becoming one with the music in the process. Playing it in his room, however, was a terrible idea.

So, he pulled a pair of trousers on, took his violin downstairs and slipped into his boots, before making his way into the back garden. He got into position, settling down as he placed the bow onto the strings, beginning the first notes.

It was a family piece, something their great-grandmother created. It was dramatic, heart-wrenching, and designed to rip your heart out while making you crave the next part of the piece. He played it with fervour, at a speed he had never achieved before. He was so frustrated, so scared, that he got carried away. Perhaps the loudness of the music would wake up the entire house, but he needed to get it all out of his system.

He didn’t want to acknowledge what he had seen in his dream, so he allowed himself to drown in the music, in every note, in the sound of his beautiful violin.

As the long, long piece came to a close, Jacob let his dramatic frantic playing calm to an acceptable level. The notes floated away in the air, leaving nothing but silence behind.

Sudden clapping nearly gave Jacob a fright. He turned to see his father approaching from behind, looking almost proud. Which was such a strange sight, he’d been tempted to look around and see if Evie was somewhere. Surely, his father wasn’t applauding _him_ , because that felt impossible.

“I always loved that piece.”

Jacob gently rested his violin on the ground. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was studying, but your music drew me out. You’re up early, has something bothered you?”

“Don’t pretend to care.”

His father sighed, taking a step forward, his hand twitching as if wanting to reach out, but Jacob took a step back. His expression collapsed into one of sorrow. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I don’t.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I know you blame me, for mother’s death. But your rejection won’t knock me down, Father. I’m stronger than that.”

“I don’t–”

“Don’t you _dare_ lie to me. I’m tired of you pretending you give a rat’s arse about me!” he yelled, his fists clenched tight. “You care so _much_ for Evie. Is she more like mother? Am I the black sheep of the family? The one who can’t possibly deserve your love because I’m not like you, or Evie, or mother?”

“Jacob…” His father took a small hesitant step forward. “You’re right, you’re not like me, or Evie… You’re very much like your mother.”

Jacob sucked in a breath, shook bloomed from his chest. Then… why would his father hate him so much?

“Your methods are like what hers used to be. Reckless and direct, without consideration for consequences. Merely ridding the world of any Templar who dared to make themselves known.” His father shallowed, clenching his jaw briefly, as if biting back tears. “We came close to Starrick, but one of your mother’s plans fell through. She hadn’t prepared like I would have. It nearly got her killed, and so she gave up being so reckless. Your methods, Jacob, will cause your death. _That’s_ why I’m much harder on you.”

“Is that right? Because I overheard you talking to George once, and you said I killed mother.” He was glad Evie had told him that now, seeing how his father’s face twisted into horror was what he _needed_.

He shook his head. He doubted his mother had been reckless, otherwise, his father – the coward that he was – never would have married her. It was lies, all of it was _lies_.

“Father, you left us for six years... I fear you forgot how to love us, but Evie is the perfect child for you, _isn’t she?_ Because she doesn’t cause much trouble for you, because you don’t have try with her. You hate the idea of being our father, but it’s easier to shift the blame onto me…” Because he was younger. Because he wasn’t the perfect student. Because he rebelled.

“None of that is true. I don’t blame you.”

“I know what I heard. And if you hate me for that then… nothing else can be said.” He picked up his violin, turning on his heel to head back towards the house.

“Jacob…!” his father called, once, and only once. He didn’t try to run after him, didn’t try to shout again, didn’t try to reason.

In the end, that was the answer Jacob needed. His father didn’t love him at all.

\--

“What are you doing, Jacob?” Max asked, laughing his head off, bending to his knees.

Jacob shrugged, settling down on a thick branch. “Trying to make you laugh. It worked, of course.” He grinned, and he’d been smiling so much, that his cheeks were beginning to hurt.

Max gave him a soft look. “Thank you for making my days brighter.”

“I’m always at your service.”

“Life would be duller without you.” Max smirked, leaning on the tree, staring upwards. “Fancy coming down? It’s lonely down here.”

Jacob could happily stay in the tree all day, looking down at Max, seeing him happy. More often than not he was upset about something his father had done, so Jacob had made it his mission to cheer him up. Of course, it worked both ways. If Jacob was down (because his father loved to torture him with words), Max wouldn’t hesitate to drag him to… well, where they were now.

They had spent the past two weeks exploring Crawley, spending hours upon hours with each other. And their favourite spot was one close by to Jacob’s house. Where the trees were plenty, where mushrooms grew on the bright moss, and where flowers seemed to sprout up in any old place (no matter the time of year).

Jacob scrambled down the tree nevertheless, he hardly wanted to leave Max all alone. As he settled on ground once more, he found himself standing _very_ close to Max. The images of his dream, of wanting to draw Max in and–

He stepped away, keeping a firm grin on. “Race you into the meadow?”

“As fun as that sounds…” Max stepped forward, closing that unbearable distance. The very distance Jacob _needed_. “This is better.”

He dove for Jacob’s abdomen, attacking him with tickles. Even through his thick-ish waistcoat it tickled, probably because Max had magic hands. Hands that could… Luckily that thought was cut off by the laughter that utterly burst from him as Max found a particularly ticklish spot. On instinct, he tried to pull away, tried to push Max away, but that backfired immensely as he stumbled backwards, taking them both down.

Max landed on top of him, sniggering into his shirt. Jacob lay his head back against the leftover autumn leaves, giggling away. It was… wonderful, to spend time with someone so… Someone who didn’t try to change him. It was like that with his friends too, but less so, as they didn’t know him as well, or wanted to know him as much as Max wanted to.

As the laughter died away, the two of them locked eyes. The moment was as intense as that time at Will’s. Like the tension could have easily been solved if Jacob reached up and closed _all_ the distance. But the thought was ridiculous. _He_ wasn’t like that, and he was sure Max wasn’t either. He came from a respectable household and Jacob was an Assassin… he couldn’t be.

Jacob playfully batted Max’s arm. “You’re heavy, you know.”

Max laughed, standing up and stepping away. “It wasn’t my plan to fall on top of you.” He brushed himself down before looking at the sky. “It’s starting to get late, I should go.”

With a sigh, Jacob stood too. Night meant another lesson… “Me too.” He smiled. “Today was fun, we need to get away from the pub more.”

“We should, absolutely.”

“Then, it’s a plan.” Jacob tipped his cap towards him. “See you soon.”

Max shoved his hands in his pockets, grinning. “See you.”

Once Jacob got home, he decided to bypass the door and go straight to his bedroom window. He didn’t want to run into his father until the lesson. After his conversation with him in the garden, he’d been avoiding him, trying his best not to talk to him, even in the lessons. For once, he had worked hard, just to keep his father from talking about it.

However, when he climbed up to his window, he found Evie in his room. She had a hand at her hip, and looked to be a little frantic. Clearly, from the way she was biting her lip. One thing he did notice, and berated himself for, was that his notebook was open on his desk.

The last thing he needed was Evie knowing he actually researched and taught himself history. It would ruin all the future jokes he had planned, all the future ways to annoy her.

He pushed his window open and climbed into his room, tilting his head as Evie noticed his arrival.

She managed to get herself into some form of calm, breathing deeply before saying, “Father is angry with you.”

Jacob took off his cap, tossing it on his bed. “What is it now? I haven’t done anything.”

“He was out in Crawley, buying supplies, when he saw you with… Roth, was it?”

“Yes. We had a bit of a day out, actually.” He smiled, flopping down on his bed. “It was nice.”

Evie moved towards him, shaking her head. “Father saw you placing your hand at Roth’s back, saw the way you looked at him…”

Jacob furrowed his brow. “Looking at him like what? Like he’s my friend? Why could he be angry over that?”

“He thinks… he thinks your romantically involved with him.”

Shit.

Fuck, no. That wasn’t fair, they were entirely friends. Nothing else but that. Nonetheless, he felt as if his father knew. As if he had seen through Jacob and realised what a… a… a deviant he was.

“Because of me having fun with my friend? That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s what I said.” Evie sat on the bed, fiddling with her hands. “But you have to admit, you are spending more time away from the house since that night at the party. And because you mentioned Roth once at dinner…”

“What? Is that supposed to mean I’m in a relationship with another _man_?” He bolted up, moving to sit at the edge of the bed, shaking his head, scoffing in a disgusted way. He had to make it believable, he had to… Although, did it matter? He wasn’t _like that_. He wasn’t. “I would never. It makes me sick just thinking about it.”

Evie snapped her head towards him, furrowing her brow. “Does it…? All you talk about when pissed is the social injustices of society. Is getting locked up for being attracted to the same sex not a social injustice?”

“What do you want me to say? It’s illegal, it will always be illegal.”

“I saw your notebook…”

Fuck… There went his reputation. “Don’t tell father.”

“You have done a lot of research on King James I recently.”

“And?”

“And in our history books, it was recorded that his attraction to men was widely known in Assassin circles.” She placed her hand at his shoulder, but he flinched, shifting away. He didn’t like where this was going, and his reaction certainly didn’t help. “Jacob… you have three pages of notes on the man. Not to mention the excerpts of Shakespeare’s sonnets that you have on one page.”

He fiddled with his hands, biting at his lip. He didn’t want to do this, he didn’t. “You went through my notebook…?”

“I was curious.”

“It was none of your business.”

Evie rubbed her arm, a nervous habit. “Sometimes I feel as if I barely know you. And after what father said… I wanted to see if he was right.”

He stood, approaching his drawers, where his gauntlet lay atop it. He used to wear it all the time, only taking it off for bed, but since he met Max… Well, he wouldn’t dare wear it around him. It helped that Crawley was fairly safe. “It wasn’t your place...”

“But is what father saw as friendly as you say?”

“Yes!”

“And your notebook?”

“Stop fishing for information, Evie. I’m your brother, not a target to be interrogated.”

Evie blew out a breath. “I just need to know if I have to protect you. Father can be… difficult with you sometimes.”

He scoffed, didn’t he know it. He closed his eyes, folding his arms. “Two weeks ago… I had a strange dream about Max… Ever since I’ve been trying to work it out, but if father thinks he knows something… I’m done for.” He touched his hidden blade with his fingertip, sighing. “Will he go to the Council to kick me out of the Brotherhood…?”

“No… He wouldn’t…”

“Your tone suggests you have no idea.”

“Jacob…”

“You have to understand, I’m not like _that_ … But you know father, he won’t listen to anyone.”

Evie stood, coming up behind Jacob. “Are you not, truly? Because I think you may be in denial.”

He scrunched his eyes tightly shut, curling his arms around himself. “I’m not. I’m not…”

“Is Roth?”

“How the fuck would I know?” He moved away, back towards the window. “What happens if I go to the lesson tonight?”

“I don’t know… But don’t leave, Jacob, _please_.”

Jacob glanced over his shoulder, looking for an answer. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because…” Evie lifted her chin. “Because I can protect you if you’re here. I don’t want father to think worse of you.”

He hung his head, sighing. “Alright… Alright, but I’m scared, Evie.”

She approached him, slowly, placing a gentle hand at his back. “It will be okay… He won’t do anything as long as I’m there.”

As the time reached half eight, they made their way to the other side of the house, where their father was waiting. He was sitting at his desk, tapping his fingers upon it. For once, _he_ looked bored. But the expression upon his face terrified Jacob. There was nothing but distaste, hate… Maybe now his father would show his true feelings.

“Jacob, can I have a word?” he said.

Evie took a few quick steps forward, stopped suddenly, her fists clenched tight. “No, you can’t speak with him. Not until you apologise.”

Their father furrowed his brow, as if Evie was speaking utter nonsense. “I told you what I saw.”

“And I trust my brother more than your eyes.”

“But he may be a–”

“If you speak another word about it,” she cut in, angrily. Jacob hadn’t seen her like this since bullies beat him up when he was six. “I will leave this house with my brother tonight, and who knows if I’ll come back.”

Their father inhaled a shaky breath, turning to the book on his desk, flipping it open. “Today… we will learn about how the Templars took over London.”

Jacob rubbed his neck, making his way to his seat. He didn’t feel comfortable, or safe. And if his father was going to talk about London, it was only to discourage them from trying anything. As he sat, he closed his eyes. “Father… you wouldn’t go to the Council over what you think you saw, would you?”

“I…”

“Don’t…” He opened his eyes, looking to his father, seeing only surprise in his eyes. Perhaps he hadn’t been considering it, or perhaps he didn’t expect Jacob to think he had been.

“I won’t. I’m sure I was mistaken.” His eyes darted to Evie.

She stared at him with cold eyes. “You were.” Leaning forward, her expression transformed into one of fascination. “Now, tell me, how do we fail to keep our strongholds under our control?”

“When you have won against an age old enemy, it’s easy to grow complacent.”

Jacob hummed, opening his notebook to jot that down. Perhaps the Templars had forgotten what an Assassin could do when let loose in a city. They were most likely far beyond complacent by now.

He smiled, there was a chance to take London back. A very good one it seemed.


	3. Breaking Free from Chains

There was nothing quite like sitting on a half frozen log in the beginning of February. In the last month and a half the weather had been relatively fine, with a few flurries of snow here and there, but now a thick layer had settled on the ground and had done for a few days. It refused to melt.

Jacob was enjoying the day with Max, in their usual spot in the trees. Their friendship had grown so close now that it was rare they went a single day without seeing each other. And he was managing to banish any wayward thoughts. Only a few dreams had occurred that tended to result in him waking up in a panic. But… everything else was fine. Their friendship was fine, and strong too.

And the silence that often flowed between them was always relaxing, just being with each other seemed to be enough.

“Your twentieth is soon,” Jacob said eventually, when he was growing a little bored.

Max sighed, shaking his head. “I’m dreading it. My father is planning several evenings in which I go to meet a young woman who _he_ thinks will be good for me.”

Jacob leant his elbows upon his thighs, staring out at the snow. “He’s going to force marriage on you far sooner than you expected…”

“Yes.”

“Don’t let him.”

“Easier said than done.” Max pulled one leg up, close to his chest. “My father is a powerful man who gets what he wants… I would _never_ be happy with anyone he chooses. Worst of all, I don’t think it’s possible for me to fall in love with a woman.”

“Oh…?” Jacob raised an eyebrow, looking towards him. “Not at all? Ever?”

He widened his eyes, as if realising his choice of words. “Forget I said anything, it doesn’t matter.”

“I think it’s quite normal to reject something that could be forced on you. But you will find love, one day.”

“You don’t understand,” Max whispered, as quietly as the creaking trees around them.

“I understand a lot about you, so what am I missing?” It couldn’t be what he thought… Max wasn’t like him, he was better than that.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s wrong. And _illegal_.”

Ah.

Jacob was mistaken. They were both as bad as each other, they both had instincts no one should ever have. If anyone with power found out, not even Jacob’s skills could save them. They were doomed to a life of utter secrecy. Because it could only be that, his words could only mean _that_. At least, from the research Jacob had done, not that there was much to read about.

“Max… are you attracted to men?” He made sure to ask the question carefully, with a soft and gentle tone.

“No!” Max scoffed, his expression twisted in pain instead of disgust at the question, like his reaction would imply. “That’s absurd. No man would dare to be attracted to another, it’s sickening.”

“You don’t have to be scared with me.” Jacob gazed into his eyes with such sincerity, he hoped he knew he was telling the truth. Because Max… sounded just like he did when trying to say it wasn’t true.

“You’re…?”

“Yes.”

Max’s entire expression relaxed, in fact his whole body did, as if a weight had been lifted off him. “Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been so terrified but you… you’re just like me.”

Jacob shifted closer, nodding. “I am. It hasn’t been long since I realised, however.”

“I’ve known for about a year, but… I’m still finding it hard to accept it.”

“I suppose we have to accept it, eventually. For our own sakes.”

Max stood, brushing himself down, his expression distracted and forlorn. “Want to go get pissed down the pub?”

“Yes, _please_.” Jacob was eager to both celebrate finding someone like him and to drown his sorrows over the whole shit situation.

By the time the evening crept in, the two of them were halfway drunk. It had taken them almost two hours to get into Crawley, due to the snow making them unbearably slow. But now they were settled and warm, in a secluded corner of their favourite pub. The fire roared, the people cheered in their drunkenness, the soft notes of a piano echoed through the establishment.

It was perfect.

“And you know what I told him?” Jacob said, a giggle in his voice.

Max shook his head in disbelief. “Oh god, what?”

“That he smelled like a slaughtered sheep in August!”

“What does that _mean_?!” he exclaimed, shaking with a sudden burst of laughter.

Jacob couldn’t stop grinning and giggling. “I don’t know!”

Max’s hands slipped off the table in his laughter, landing atop Jacob’s thigh. In an instant, all joy was cut off by surprise. Neither moved. Wouldn’t have dared to. The warmth from Max’s palm made Jacob crave… the sort of thing he had only seen in his dreams. He stared at the hand, wanting nothing more than to cover it with his own, or grasp it and take them somewhere far away.

When he looked to Max’s eyes, he found him staring back, pupils ever so slightly dilated. Jacob swallowed thickly, smoothing his hand across Max’s shoulder. The moment was intense, he wanted so much. And now that he knew… It was possible, wasn’t it? Completely possible.

“Jacob,” Max whispered, his voice strained. He inched his hand up his thigh, and the slow movement of promise paired with the intoxicating air, with the alcohol in his system, had him captured. “Do you…”

“Yes,” he replied far too quickly. He couldn’t say no, they both knew what was going to happen next. Nothing could deny it, or stop it. “But not here...”

Max leant close to his ear, whispering, “My father has a second house that I just so happen to have stolen the keys for.”

He chuckled, how absurd. “Why?”

“To spite him.” He reached for Jacob’s hand, grasping it. “Want to go?”

“Take me.”

They went rushing out of the pub, and Jacob allowed Max to pull him through the snow filled streets. There wasn’t anyone out to see, so they were safe enough. But Jacob could hardly think of being caught when his dreams could come true. Something that was impossible only a few hours ago.

Max fiddled with the keys but managed to get into the building quickly enough. It was fairly bland and empty, but it had a bedroom which was all they needed. If he was honest with himself, he was scared, of the unknown of it all. Taking a friendship further was daunting, especially since they were…

The bedroom was cold and had no personality to it, but it was a lot safer than an alley, or either of their houses. As Jacob stepped into it, Max let his hand go, suddenly becoming quite still. As if the drunkenness that had clouded their decision had worn off. Jacob hoped it hadn’t… but he could certainly understand why.

After all, they both hadn’t accepted what they were.

Max spun on his heel, staring at Jacob for a moment. “I don’t have a bloody clue what I’m doing. I’ve never…”

Jacob smiled reassuringly, stepping towards him. “It’s alright, Max. We don’t have to do anything, we could sit and talk or… if you want we could… kiss?”

“I…” Max slowly walked towards the bed, sitting on the edge of it. “I’m scared…”

“Me too.”

He looked at Jacob curiously. Almost as if he was in shock, or surprised. “This won’t… ruin our friendship, would it?”

“Of course not.” Jacob sat beside Max, placing a cautious hand at his knee, he didn’t flinch nor reject the gesture. That was a start. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Max cupped Jacob’s face, staring at him with such earnest and intense eyes that Jacob knew there was no going back. This was happening, and they both wanted it.

“Then kiss me.”

Max pulled Jacob in, and… his mind went wonderfully blank. No longer was he an Assassin at war with the Templars, he was just a boy who was quickly falling for someone he shouldn’t. Finally feeling Max’s lips on his own, as soft as he imagined, it was everything. He instantly craved more, and pulled Max closer as he placed his hands at his hips. It was completely new and _wonderful_.

It was slow and methodical, perfect and gentle, as they both explored the new territory of having another man’s lips on their own. Jacob was intoxicated by it, letting his mind drift into dangerous train of thoughts. He wanted so much, wanted it all. Wanted his dreams to be more than his own imagination. But that would all come in time. Of that, he was sure.

As Max nipped at his bottom lip, pulling a surprising groan from him, they slowly lay back, repositioning themselves. Which, quite delightfully, ended up with Jacob on top. He took advantage of the position by leaving Max’s lips to explore his neck while grinding down on him.

Max moaned, a sound Jacob could hear for the rest of his life and never grow tired of, he was sure.

He drew of few more delicious sounds from Max, till he made him pause by saying, “where are we going with this, my dear?”

Jacob pulled away from Max, looking to him with a raised eyebrow. “‘My dear’?”

Max grinned. “Like it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His grin transformed into a sly smirk. “What shall we do?”

Jacob dove down, kissing him roughly yet sweetly. “Everything,” he whispered upon his lips.

\--

“And don’t forget your lunch!”

“Oh shit! I nearly forgot!”

Jacob chuckled as he passed by the Freeman household. They were loud and excitable people, probably one of the few families in Crawley that could adapt to anything. Oh, and Gabe, a humble miner, always forgot his lunch.

It made for an entertaining walk in the morning. That along with the children from several households running around, getting ready for school, and the endless bustle from every shop owner of the town preparing for the Wednesday market, really made Crawley seem more populated than it was.

Jacob imagined that, to some degree, a market day in Crawley was what London was like every day.

A sudden arm wrapped around him, and a joyous laugh that sounded a lot like Noel’s boomed in his ear. “Hey, mate. What are _you_ doing in the market?”

He glanced out the corner of his eye, smiling slightly at Noel. “I fancied a look. What are you doing here?”

“Helping out my mother.” He shook Jacob a little roughly. “You haven’t been spending much time with us.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Mmm, yeah. Busy chatting up that posh bloke.”

Jacob spluttered, pulling away from Noel. “Posh bloke?”

Noel rolled his eyes. “Don’t play coy with me. I know you, Jacob. I know the difference between you being friends with someone and… not.”

“What would you know?”

For a second, Noel paused, before he hit Jacob with the back of his hand, angling his head towards an alcove between a couple of shops. As they settled in the shadows, Noel whispered, “Why do you think I like Will’s so much? There’s more than gambling and fights if you know the right door to go into.”

“There’s… At Will’s?”

“Will doesn’t run it, of course. I don’t think he even knows. The head guard is in control of it, especially with who goes in…” Noel glanced past Jacob, clearly making sure no one could overhear. “Just be careful when having fun. Posh men don’t tend to stick around this area for long.”

Jacob shook his head, folding his arms. “It’s not like that. He’s going to get married off, soon, probably, we’re making the most of it… in case.”

“In case it’s the last time.” Noel nodded slowly, sighing. “I know how that feels. I don’t like the hiding and relationships always… fall apart.”

“You’ll find someone, if you want it to be like… normal people.”

“Yeah, well… At least I know I have a friend in this.”

Jacob smiled, reassuringly. “You do. I’m here if you need to talk about it, any of it.”

Noel grinned, gripping Jacob’s arm. “I’m glad I wasn’t wrong about you.”

“I suppose, people like us, are good at finding each other.”

“We have to be, to survive.” He patted Jacob’s arm before moving past him. “Anyway, have fun at the market. I’ll see you later.”

“See you.”

Jacob was left standing there, dazed, for a few seconds. Noel was… It seemed this was a lot more common than he wanted to admit. Noel, Max, him… Who else was like them? How common was it? Surely if Noel was as well it was more than merely being a deviant, it was more than a choice. Because _he_ certainly did not chose this path.

And yet… here he was.

In a sort of relationship with another man.

He shrugged it off, finding his way through the small crowds of people to one particular stall. Right outside the best bakery in all of Crawley. Cakes and biscuits lined the table, filling every inch of space. Jacob smiled, it was always a welcoming sight.

“Hello, Mr Bateman,” he greeted, smiling at the only baker that mattered.

Bateman grinned. “Hello there, Mister Frye.”

Jacob rolled his eyes at the formal greeting, but Bateman would never give it up. “You make buying cakes so formal.”

“It’s my job to make it seem more luscious.”

He barked a laugh, shaking his head. Baking was a humble craft, nothing could change that. He briefly skimmed the table, making sure what he wanted was upon it. Which it was. “May I get a slice of carrot cake?”

“You may!” Bateman smiled as he cut a slice, delicately placing wrapping it up in a cloth before handing it over. Jacob switched the cake out for money, smiling as he did so.

Ever since he was a child, buying baked goods from Bateman had always been a joy. No one could bake like he could.

“Have a nice day,” Bateman said as he tipped his hat.

“You too.”

Jacob was out of Crawley and into the outskirts in no time.

It was early March now, which meant Max’s birthday was rapidly approaching, and so was a possible arranged wedding. Therefore, cake. If there was anything that could cheer people up, it was a sweet treat. And Max had admitted, a few times now, that carrot cake was his favourite. It could work as an early present too.

Since they were heading into spring, the snow was long gone, and the weather was warming ever so slightly. Which made going to their secret spot more bearable. No more half frozen logs to sit on or freezing themselves half to death just to see each other.

Perhaps… when things fully settled with their… well, relationship, Jacob could ask Noel more about Will’s. If there was a place they could be, where it was less secret, it would be a nice change.

As Jacob brushed past a few branches and into the clearing, he spotted Max, crouched down by one of the trees. He was about to ask but Max beat him to it.

“Looks like we have the first flower spouting up.”

Jacob smiled. “Good, it’ll make this area more lively again.”

“Indeed.” Max bounced up, turning to Jacob. His attention was instantly caught by the cake. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It is.” He sat on the log, patting the space behind him. “Call it a celebratory cake for lasting a month in our…”

Max sat beside him, grasping Jacob’s hand tight. “It’s a relationship, my dear. Call it what it is.”

Jacob let out a breath, nodding, glad that he hadn’t been fooling himself over what this was. He smiled, placing the cake in his lap. “It’s also an early birthday present, and it’s your favourite, of course.”

“Is it from Bateman’s bakery?”

“Absolutely, nowhere else compares.”

“Good, his cakes are the best.” Max unwrapped the slice carefully, picking a piece off, plopping it into his mouth. He hummed. “As perfect as always.”

Jacob grinned. He was glad he could do nice things for Max, even though his life seemed overly sad and complicated sometimes. Sometimes, in the safety of the woods, he admitted that without Jacob, his life would be bleak, and wouldn’t be worth living. If there was one thing either of them could be thankful for, it was that party. It brought them together and they had been inseparable since.

After the cake was gone and finished, Jacob snuggled up to Max’s side, resting his head on his shoulder. He didn’t want to lose Max, but his birthday was only a week away and they both knew his father would act sooner rather than later. And once Max was married… there would be little chance of them meetup in secret like they have.

It was a complete fantasy, but it would be wonderful to run away to a safe place where no one could find them. But Jacob couldn’t leave, couldn’t neglect his duties as an Assassin, otherwise, it could risk the whole world falling to the Templars. In Britain, they needed as many people out in the field as possible.

Max squeezed Jacob’s hand. “I’m never losing you, I hope you know that.”

“You can’t escape marriage either. Not if what you say about your father’s riches is true.”

“For you, Jacob, I would risk him finding out and face him head on, than lose you to keep us both safe.”

Jacob huffed an amused breath. “I knew, when we first met, that you would never take things lying down.”

“I most certainly will not, not when I have so much to lose now.” He shifted, taking Jacob’s face between his hands. “I _love_ you.”

“Max…” Jacob curled his fingers around his wrists, smiling as he pushed their foreheads together. “I love you too.”

“Then you promise to fight and go against whatever comes next?”

“I will, for you, I will.”

“Then we have nothing to fear, darling.”

Max leant in, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss, full of a promise so meaningful that it would define everything they did next. Love… That’s what this was. Making their love more than clear, showing it off to one another as they poured all their feelings into the one moment.

Jacob pulled Max close, kissing him hard before leaving his lips slowly, tantalisingly. A kiss was what they wanted, but a hug… he knew they _needed_ a hug. So, he wrapped his arms around Max and buried his face into his clothes. They wouldn’t lose each other, of that he was sure, but he was still scared, nonetheless.

Max held Jacob tightly, clearly craving the very comfort a hug could give. They would be alright, eventually.

\--

Jacob closed his notebook, sighing. It was such a shame he had to give up doing his own study, only to go and learn something that didn’t interest him from his father.

He got up, reluctantly, and made his way down the hall to his father’s study. Once got there, he noticed that Evie (the early bird that she was) wasn’t sitting down yet. Which was strange. She’s normally have her notebook out by now, scribbling some pre-lesson notes down.

“I’m sending you on a mission,” their father said, to Evie, who smiled and stood tall.

“Where am I going?”

“I’m sending you into Bromley. A Templar is visiting the bank there, based off George’s information. He’s one of Starrick’s many henchmen, one that supplies money to him.”

Evie nodded, her expression turning somewhat dark. “Then he will have one less source of income once I’m done.”

Jacob folded his arms. “And what is my mission, father?”

“You will protect Crawley, as you usually do.” His voice turned cold as he continued, “Like the good small town watchman that you are. And that you always will be.”

Jacob clenched his jaw. “That’s unfair. Evie gets to prove herself in a mission, while I stay here?”

“Your sister will be Master soon enough. You, Jacob, you will _never_ earn that rank.”

“Only because you stifle me. For once, let me _be_ an Assassin. Otherwise, your training was for nothing.” He glanced to Evie for help, but she was far too silent. So, he did all he could, he wished for the worst. “I will only become Master once you’re dead, when I’m free to be who I am…”

His father looked as if all the wind was knocked out of him. Good. “Get out of my sight.”

“Gladly.” He turned to Evie with a frown. “Thank you for the help, _sweet sister_.”

He left through the nearest window, feeling awfully down and… sick. He just wanted to be loved by his father… by Evie. But they hated him. They would never see him as a good Assassin. They would never understand him.

He went into Crawley, the town he would ‘always be watchman for’. He scoffed as he climbed atop a building, he could be so much more, his father surely knew that. He could be a Master if someone believed in him. And yet, no one did, all on his father’s say so.

Evie got to grow, and he did nothing in comparison. She got love and he got a cold hard stare. Sure, his methods could have been seen as reckless, but he always got in, and got out, quickly, efficiently, with his target dead, unseen. He never sacrificed the Brotherhood, never did anything but the mission.

And he certainly never allowed personal feelings to get in the way.

Not having a plan was the easiest way to improvise, because in their line of work, things rarely ever went to plan _anyway_. After all, nothing could go wrong if everything was improvised to begin with.

He _always_ completed his mission. So why did his father scold him so much? If papers and records needed retrieving, he did so. If supplies needed destroying, or taken, or whatever else, he did so. Without fail. And yet… He worked hard, but because he went against his father… Well.

Jacob couldn’t thrive as long as his father was there to hate him.

He sat on the roof, breathing in and out, allowing himself to carefully ease into his Eagle Vision. Nothing but grey greeted him. That was how peaceful and boring Crawley was. But… there was a Templar here, wherever they were hiding. It had been two months and no Blighter had arrived, nothing suspicious had happened.

Perhaps the Templar lived here, but they certainly did not work in Crawley. Maybe they wanted the scenic life, away from London. Jacob curled his hand into a fist, the Templar wouldn’t get much of a life here. This was Assassin domain.

As much as he hated being a watchman for the town, it had its benefits. He knew every inch, nook, cranny and corner of this place. He knew where most lived, what jobs they had, who they talked to, who their friends were. Of course, it was different for the people who lived on the outskirts. He doubted he would ever really know where Max lived, never mind who his parents were. And the same went for himself.

He stood up, sighing. He wanted, _craved_ , to do something out of spite of his father, but… there was no information on any factories Blighters were occupying out of town. And if he went back to the fight club any time soon, he was sure Will would kick him out and tell him to get a new hobby. After all, Will had a thing about fresh blood over old and trusted champions.

So, he did all he could, he took off running. It was as if the rooftops were built for an Assassin to run over, to keep their momentum, to never stop. He could jump from one roof to another without having to worry. He could jump down safely and scale up swiftly. Crawley was his playground, and free running always allowed him to blow off _some_ steam.

He’d been going for a good fifteen minutes when he heard a shriek coming from a man. Stopping mid sprint, he entered his Eagle Vision, stepping to the edge of the roof. There was an instant glow of red… Blighters.

Well, he spoke too soon. The Templar was clearly making a move. Against… Mr Bateman? But he was just a shopkeeper, he sold all the basic food supplies. Kept much of Crawley fed. What would Blighters want from him, and more specifically, what would the Templar want with him?

Jacob pulled up his hood, tucking his cap away. They weren’t going to hurt Bateman, not on his watch. He jumped down from the roof, rolling as he landed. He approached slowly, taking note of the situation with his Eagle Vision to help. They had knives but no guns. And they were certainly scaring Bateman half to death.

“I won’t, I won’t do it!” Bateman yelled, on his knees, held upright by a Blighter.

“Then choke on my blade.” One of the Blighters withdrew his knife, and Jacob, he had to act.

Even if it went against everything his father would want for a small town watchman. One of their own was _not_ dying to a dammed Blighter.

Jacob sparked into a full sprint, extending his blade with a flick. He grabbed the Blighter as he neared, throwing him over his shoulder, stabbing him right in the chest. He spun around, casting one of his throwing knives into the head of the other Blighter before he could _dare_ to hurt Bateman.

The Blighters lay still, blood poured from them.

Bateman stood, wiping his eyes. The poor man must have had such a shock. “Thank you…”

Jacob nodded, lowering his voice as he said, “Why were they after you?”

“They wanted me to sell their ill-gotten goods. But I’m a simple man, not a criminal.”

“I’ll try my best to keep them far from these streets.”

“Be careful, lad.” Bateman brushed a hand through his hair, casting a glance over his shoulder. “This is not the town you and I know anymore. Not if the Blighters are here.”

Jacob thinned his lips. “You know of them?”

“I used to live in London, years back. Let me tell you, boy…” He lifted his chin, puffing out his chest, “The only newcomer to this town is that man who moved into the Edwin estate, and now the Blighters are here... Consider looking into that lead.”

Linking the Blighters with that man… Jacob knew where he lived, knew he was most likely involved in the black market, the exact reason why the Blighters had harassed and nearly killed Bateman…

Was that man the Templar they had been looking for?

Jacob smiled faintly. “Thank you, sir. I will use this information wisely.”

Bateman gave him a sloppy salute. “And thank you, for saving my life. If you tell me who you are, I’ll give you a permanent discount.”

Oh… that would be a fun way to rub Evie’s nose in it. She loved Bateman’s homemade cakes. “Now, that would be telling.”

Without another word, he went off running. Straight back home. He couldn’t watch Crawley if there was a possible Templar to kill. And kill he would. No matter what could be said about him, or his methods, letting a Templar live longer than they had to helped no one but the Templars themselves.

They were _Assassins_. It was their entire fight. And to give that up for research, for patience…

He could be _very_ discreet, but people always found out about murders and assassinations. That was the world they lived in now. It couldn’t stop them, it shouldn’t.

Because he had been taught about the war that took place in the shadows, out of the eyes of the public. Templars had to die, no matter the consequences. Because things would work out if people had freedom. Order didn’t allow for choices, freedom _did_.

He burst into the house, sprinting up the stairs, finding his father in the study. The one room in the house he tried to keep his own, but not tonight, not when he had a lead.

“The Templar may be that man I mentioned, the one with the scars.”

His father raised an eyebrow, steepling his fingers. “And what evidence do you have?”

“Blighters attacked Mr Bateman because they wanted him to use his shop for black market purposes. Bateman blamed it on our mystery man because he’s the only newcomer to Crawley, and now the Blighters are here. Father, this is _bad_. We already know the man may be involved with the black market.”

“Is there any way you can get further proof? You don’t want to kill an innocent man.”

Jacob tilted his head. “I can go to the Edwin estate. If I find proof, may I have permission to kill him outright?”

His father sat back, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Your sister will be–”

“ _Father_ , trust me.”

He looked to Jacob with thinned lips and cold eyes. “Yes, you have permission. Don’t mess it up.”

Jacob scoffed, whipping his cap off. “Have I ever?”

No response came, at least, not one that didn’t require deep thought.

“I thought not.” He pulled up his hood, turning away. “Goodnight, Father.”

Only silence wished him good luck and said goodbye.

\--

Jacob snuck through a window to the most obvious rich capitalist office he had ever seen. The bookcases were a dark and clearly expensive wood. The floors were varnished and perfectly clean. And then desk… was simply over the top. But it was there that any evidence could lie. Templars didn’t exactly keep their identity hidden, much like the Assassins, they wore their crest proudly.

Although, in reality, that probably wasn’t the smartest idea for either group. But would they stop wearing the very symbol of what they were? No.

Even if it could put them at risk.

He rounded the desk, glancing at the drawers. Each had a keyhole, so the probability of them being open… He pulled at each one. None opened. Luckily, he always packed his trusty lockpicks, and in no time at all, each drawer was open and ripe for searching.

They were stacked high with papers. A lot of invoices here, a lot of letters about future meetings there. Some letters began with ‘Dear Mr Reed’ and ended with ‘Sincerely, D Reed’. That certainly had to be the man’s last name, from what Jacob could work out. The content of the letters made it clear enough. But there was nothing concrete, nothing that out and out said the man was a Templar. No reference to the ‘father of understanding’ or a hidden piece of jewellery featuring the Templar insignia.

However, there was one letter that mentioned the Blighters. From someone named Kaylock, who had given Reed the permission to use a small group of them for his work. Surely that meant…

Sudden footsteps alerted Jacob, and the sounded awfully near. He closed all the drawers, making sure they were need enough, before rushing back to the window. He climbed out in and instant, pulling the window back down to its original openness.

The door to the office swung open, and there… was the man. He wore no obvious marks… Was he just a pawn of the Templars? Did they simply use his services? He went to his desk, placing his hand upon it, sighing.

Jacob climbed along the building, leaving the office behind. He didn’t want to be caught. And if he was to impress his father at all, ever, he had to do this right. He had to prove that he had the same skills as Evie. That they both deserved to be Masters one day.

He stopped at the next window over, looking through it, entering his Eagle Vision for good measure. No one was inside, so he slid it open, hopping in. The room was highly decorated, and looked to be in use, but for now, it was empty. He had to be careful, this mission _required_ stealth. It was very possible the wife and son (depending on how old he was) could be Templars too, and he needed to work that out as well.

Before he could plan anything, however, the door opened.

There was no time to run, so Jacob slipped into his Vision to check if it was his target. Except… he saw only green. And then… he saw who was before him.

Something shattered on the ground, by the door, by… Oh, god.

“An Assassin…?”

Jacob turned away, breathing in. He didn’t realise… and the window was _right there_. But when he moved towards it–

“It’s you, isn’t it? I know your style, darling. You can’t hide from me.”

Jacob closed his eyes, pushing down his hood… Max. How could Max be the son? He clenched his left fist. “Is your father a Templar?”

There was a moment of silence that stretched on for a second too long. Then, “You’re here to kill him.”

“So, he is?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me you’re not a Templar.” Jacob shot a look over his shoulder, taking in a nervous breath. “ _Please_.”

Max swallowed, thickly. He hesitantly cupped his hands behind his back. “My dear… I told you, I’m not interested in my father’s business.”

“Then you’ll let me do my work?”

“And let you kill my father?”

“It’s what an Assassin does, yes.”

“Well…” Max stepped aside, sweeping his arm outwards, “go ahead. I’ve seen what the Templars do. Order should not destroy freedom. That’s not how society should work.”

Jacob smiled and turned around, pulling his hood back up. “I’m glad you’re on the right side.”

“Me too, otherwise I’d probably have a blade in my throat right now.”

“I don’t know…” He glanced down at his blade, the most powerful, most political, and deadliest weapon on the Earth. No one ever saw it coming, few ever survived it. “But I don’t have to, you’re not a Templar.”

“I’m most certainly not.” Max let out a long breath. “Just don’t hurt my mother.”

“She’s not a Templar, is she?”

“Not in the slightest. My father trapped her in a marriage.”

“I suppose he’s worse than anyone gives him credit for?”

“You can’t possibly know the half of it.”

Jacob nodded, stepping towards the door. “Where is he?”

“Downstairs. He’s in the living room, but there is an indoor balcony above it, with a convenient railing that will give you a prime vantage point to assassinate him.”

He smiled faintly walking right up to the door. “Thank you for the info.”

Max caught his wrist, staring at him intently. “Make it swift but painful. The bastard has to pay.”

A wave of shock washed over Jacob, he parted his mouth in realisation, his brow softened. “Oh… Max, what has he done to you?” He reached up, tucking a tuft of hair behind Max’s ear.

“He knows how to make it hurt without leaving bruises.”

“Then I’ll make it hurt by leaving a rather large gash in his throat.” Jacob clenched his jaw… Templars were the worst evil had to offer. He left a small kiss on Max’s forehead as he reached for the door.

Max nodded, looking slightly horrified at what was going to happen, but also… there was peace in his eyes.

Jacob slipped into the hallway, finding the grand stairs to the right of him. He’d only been to the Edwin estate once, when he was ten, and for the most part, it hadn’t changed at all. He entered his Eagle Vision; gold greeted him. He followed the hallway down, to an archway that led to indoor balcony. At the midway point, he hopped upon it, glancing down.

Reed was standing, reading one of his many letters. Jacob readied himself, waiting for Reed to step just that bit closer… It was over once he looked up, walking ever so slightly forward.

Jacob jumped, extending his blade as he came down on top of Reed, stabbing him right in the neck, ripping his blade out with no remorse. The _oh so poor Templar_ choked in pain as his airway was swiftly cut off.

He stood, looming over him. “You may have London, but you will _never_ have Crawley.”

Reed laughed. He seemed far to joyous, but death would soon claim him. “We will have it all. The longer you Assassins spend out here, the more we will grow.”

“Luck is on our side. Your son happens to be my friend.”

“That useless piece of shit is no Templar.”

“And yet… all the knowledge he has!”

“Fuck…”

Jacob crouched by Reed, clenching his jaw. “Rot in hell for what you have done to him.”

He died, right then. Jacob got a clean corner of his handkerchief, swiping it across his neck.

“We will win,” he whispered. “We will strike when guards are lowered.” He turned away, tucking the handkerchief into his belt. Another job done well, even if Reed didn’t seem like an important part of Starrick’s Order. It was still another Templar dead.

As he was about to take his leave, he noticed a woman hiding by the door opposite Reed’s body. She was shaking… “Madam, it’s alright.”

“You’re an Assassin,” she murmured.

“I am.”

“Thank you.” She stepped out from the shadows. “That monster had me trapped in this marriage long enough. My son and I are free now.”

Jacob faintly smiled. “I’m glad, but his death does not free you from the clutches of the Order.” He swallowed thickly, what he had to say next pained him. “I would suggest running, very, very far from this house.”

“My son would never leave, he has a friend here, and for the first time, he’s happy.”

“Then I cannot advise you.” He glanced to the body. “Would you like me to take him away?”

“No, leave him.” Her gaze darkened. To such a degree, even Jacob felt threatened by it. “I have a friend who has been struggling to feed her pigs. He’ll do nicely.”

“Then I wish you luck for the future, Madam.”

“Thank you, Assassin.”

He nodded, taking his leave rather quickly. However, once he was outside, he climbed back up to Max’s window, where he saw him and his mother hugging each other. There was such a happiness radiating from it. Max’s mother was grinning widely, as if a weight had finally be lifted. They pulled back, and Max placed his hands on his mother’s shoulders, shaking her a little… with excitement it seemed.

Jacob smiled, _this_ was the true effect of ridding the world of Templars. The freedom it gave others was worth anything and everything that could happen after.

He dropped down onto the ground, rolling his shoulders. Time to tell his father the good news. Maybe he’d be proud.

\--

“It’s done,” Jacob said, leaning against the doorframe, pushing his hood down. “He was a Templar.”

His father glanced up, placing his pen down. “And nothing went wrong?”

“Not at all. His wife even thanked me and assured me he would be fed to her friend’s pigs.”

His father raised his eyebrows. “Blimey. That’s rather gruesome.”

“He abused her and his son.” Jacob shrugged, walking further into the room. “Everything worked perfectly, he never saw me coming until he was dying on the floor.”

For the first time since his first kill, his father smiled with pride. “Perhaps I was wrong, Jacob. I assumed you didn’t know how to be as quiet as the night, or how to approach a target without them knowing.”

“I assure you, Father, my time spent training at the fight club, or exploring factories beyond Crawley, has given me the skills I need to face _anything_ out there.” He folded his arms, lifting his chin. “Never doubt my ability to get in and out unseen, or to kill my target regardless of what happens.”

His father nodded, suddenly solemn. “I’m afraid I saw your mother in you to such a degree, I thought you would become just like she was when we started out. But I can see it in your eyes that you’re entirely different. Just… be careful, and remember, killing Templars can have good and bad impacts on innocent people. Don’t allow there to be a power vacuum.”

Jacob thinned his lips. He didn’t completely agree on the good and bad front – it could only be good – but he did suppose his father had a point. “I’ll try to remember that.” He bowed his head. “Are you… proud of me?”

“Yes, I do believe I am.” His father stood, rounding the desk, but didn’t approach Jacob fully. “I’m sorry I underestimated you, and assumed the worst. I saw only immaturity when in reality, you craved a different style of teaching.”

“I don’t learn like Evie does.”

“I think _I_ need to learn that just because you’re both my children, doesn’t mean you have to be the same as me. After all, there is more than one way to be an Assassin. And I need to trust you to not get yourself killed.”

Jacob folded his arms, glancing away. “I won’t get myself killed. I know how to get out of the direst of situations. It’s the one thing you can’t teach us.”

“That… is unfortunately true. Perhaps I should have listened to your mother years ago, than being so bull-headed.” He let out a small breath. “I’ll listen to you from now on, I promise.”

“I’m glad, Father. All these years it has been hard because of your disapproval… You have to stop blaming me too, please.”

“I will, I’ll try. You are my son, I have to accept having you is better than not.”

Jacob held his breath for a moment, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes.”

He grinned, relief washed over him. “That means more than you can ever understand.”

“I’m sorry, son.”

Jacob nodded for a few seconds, ready to ask the question he had always wondered. “Why did you hate me so much?”

His father turned away, leaning against his desk. “When you were born… I left because the grief was too much, and I thought the both of you had caused her death.”

“But me specifically?”

“Yes. But I helped and trained a young boy in India, and I realised I had to return. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was your fault. So, I distanced myself from you. And when we started training and you grew easily bored, wanting to do more and more, I knew what path you were on and I decided to distance myself completely… Which only allowed me to criticise your every move because of how different you were to me, and Evie.”

Jacob shook his head. “It’s funny that you taught us about being rational, when you being entirely _irrational_. My methods are no different to Assassins of the past… The only difference is, we don’t have a Brotherhood to control the fall of Templars.”

“But you do admit there are consequences?”

Jacob shrugged. “It’s worth it, for the freedom of everyone.”

His father thinned his lips. “On that we disagree. We must be careful to keep our integrity.”

“And we must be direct to keep the Templars from gaining more power.”

“Both are needed.”

“ _Exactly_.”

His father nodded. “Maybe we need to learn from each other.”

“Yes, I think we do.”

“Good. Then we will.”

Jacob scoffed the toe of his boot off the ground, glancing downwards. He was glad that he and his father were going to work everything out, to better them both, but he had one more question. An important one at that. “Do you love me?”

“Oh… my boy… of course.” His father approached him, and when Jacob glanced up, he noticed his arms were open. An invitation. “May we hug?”

Jacob didn’t say anything, he merely stepped into his father’s arms and held on tight. Until today, until _right now_ , he had never experienced this… Love, from his father. A hug… Something so simple, that he _needed_. And after all these years, he finally felt it.

He was loved and cherished, at long last.

Smiling, he knew everything was falling into place, and happiness, peace… they were right around the corner.

\--

After his talk with his father, he went into his room, swiftly getting changed for bed. It had been… a long night. Everything he had found out, everything he had done, all the running… It had drawn all the energy from him. So, sleep swiftly took him when he curled up under the covers.

A soft dream of fresh grass and blooming flowers overwhelmed him. Max was at the forefront, beaming brightly, as if nothing had ever scarred him. There was only joy behind those eyes now. A joy that Jacob was more than glad for.

The dream was ripped from him as he jolted awake. Fuzziness faded quickly, allowing him to realise Evie standing above him. “When did you get back?” he croaked.

“Around twenty minutes ago.”

“How did it go?”

“It all went according to plan, of course.” She sat on the edge of the bed as Jacob rearranged himself to sit on top of the covers. “Father told me you killed the Templar?”

“I did.”

“What happened? We had no leads on him.”

“Blighters were attacking Mr Bateman, and he said the only newcomer was the man in the Edwin estate. _He_ connected the two events.”

Evie tilted her head. “And…?”

“And I asked father to let me go check and assassinate him if I found proof. Which I did, so he’s dead.”

She folded her arms. “That simple?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t… mess up?”

“No.” He smiled, thinking back to the conversation. They had finally reached a resolution, and it hadn’t quite sunk in yet. “Father was proud.”

“He thinks he misjudged you.”

“Yes, he’s finally seen reason.”

She sighed. Which was never a good sign, that paired with her folded arms… Well, it seemed she wasn’t proud of him, which was a shame. “I’m glad he accepts your methods now.”

“But?”

“But you have to be careful. Your lack of planning is dangerous.”

He shrugged, he wasn’t about to let Evie ruin his good mood. He had done well, he knew that. “I’m prepared for anything at least.”

“You may be but–”

Jacob sat up, cutting her off with, “He was Max’s father.”

“Wha…?”

“Don’t worry, Max isn’t a Templar.” He folded his arms, glancing the ground. “I can’t believe how much we had been lying to each other. Me, an Assassin, him, the son of a Templar…”

Evie slipped off the bed, pacing away from it. She seemed a little surprised. “And the mother?”

“She said she would feed Reed’s body to the pigs.”

“Shit…” She rubbed her neck. “I assume the Templars won’t know he’s dead then.”

“Probably not, at least, not for a while.” Jacob swung his legs off the bed, sitting upon the edge. He shrugged as Evie looked back towards him. “Still, they won’t know Assassins are here. They don’t know where we hide.”

“Hide… We really _are_ hiding aren’t we? When I was in Bromley, I noticed there were a few too many Blighters. I fear we may have to make a move sooner rather than later.”

“That’s better than letting the people of London suffer under Templar rule any longer.”

“I suppose so. I only wish we had more time to research.”

Jacob stood, shaking his head. He could hardly believe she was still saying that. “ _Forget_ _research_. That won’t help us dismantle their control, which will do, one day. Soon hopefully.”

Evie huffed a breath, letting her arms drop to her sides. “You may be right. Shall we go to father later, with all our anecdotes about the Blighters and Templars? Perhaps then he will finally let us do more than assassinate targets far from London.”

Jacob grinned. Excitement bubbled to the top in the mere anticipation of being able to free people from Templar clutches. “Yes. I think he’ll listen this time.”

“Then let’s do it. To save future generations from them, to save this _country_ from them.”

He couldn’t stop grinning. It was about bloody time, and it couldn’t come quickly enough.

\--

Max swung the door open, smiling slightly. “I never got a chance to say thank you.”

Jacob pulled his cap from his head, tucking it into his coat. “No need to thank me. It’s my job.”

“But you handled it well for us, and Mandy won’t need to scrounge for slop for her pigs.”

They both chuckled a small bit, before making their way inside, into the living room. It looked spick and span, considering a man lay dead here two days prior.

Max had organised for Jacob to come over while his mother was out, talking to their lawyer about her husband going missing. Afterwards, she was planning on grabbing cakes from the bakery to truly celebrate the momentous occasion. Suffice it to say, they had plenty of time.

Jacob wanted to get right into the nitty-gritty part of the situation before they talked about anything else. So, they sat down on one of the sofas, turned towards each other, there was only a slight gap between them.

“Your name isn’t Roth,” Jacob said, questioning more than merely stating.

“It isn’t Maxwell either. But I changed it... from Oberon Reed. Maxwell Roth is my own name.”

“I like it better.”

“Thank you.”

“What is your mother planning to do? Can you afford this house?”

Max twisted his mouth, shrugging. “My mother has her inheritance and good old father left us some money to us in an emergency. The Templars... I’m not sure if they will come after us, but my father taught me how to fight, so I can survive.”

Jacob took one of Max’s hands into his own, smiling reassuringly. “You could always join us and become an Assassin. A friend of ours is looking to be a mentor for someone.”

“I could...” Max bit at his lip. “It’s a worthy cause I suppose.”

“I can’t guarantee anything, certainly not your safety. But I can be by your side, always.”

“I’ll think about it, it’s not a simple decision.”

“Certainly not.” Jacob had hope that Max would join them, he was a good person, and they could do great things together. He squeezed Max’s hand. “The best part of this is, no one can force you to marry.”

Max lit up in an instant, shifting and leaning Jacob, entwining their fingers. “I’d almost forgotten… Jacob, we can just… _be_.”

“Yes, we can. No law can stop us.” He cupped Max’s face, gazing with _love_. “Whatever you choose, I will be with you. But, promise me that you’ll follow me to London, when the time comes, _please_?”

“My dear, I’d follow you anywhere.” He pulled Jacob into a kiss, one so romantic and overwhelming after the shocks of the past couple days.

He never guessed they would be here, free from the threat of Max’s father, able to _be_ with each other because the bastard law that tried to stop love was nowhere near as bad as assassinating people. It paled in comparison. He’d done worse than love a man.

Max drew Jacob’s bottom lip in, sucking, and all thoughts left his mind as a moan escaped him. He parted his lips, inviting Max in as he smoothed his hands down his sides, drawing Max closer, pulling their bodies flush.

Jacob was happy, everything was finally going in the right direction, and he had his love, right by him, who would be there through it all.

And that excited Jacob to no end. With Max, the future was bright. Change was dawning on them, and that, that meant everything.


End file.
